Until These Shivers Subside
by LostinOblivion
Summary: Sequel to Distorted. During her first case back, Prentiss has to deal with memories of her abduction, unwanted press attention, and her changing relationship with Morgan. Morgan/Prentiss.
1. Chapter 1

_So, a few things to cover._

_This is the sequel to 'Distorted'. You'll get more out of this one if you read the original first, but this is it's own case-fic, so you might be able to get by without reading it. That being said, this chapter won't give away much from 'Distorted', so if you want to read it, read it before the second chapter._

_The title is taken from the lyrics to REM's "Try Not to Breathe", they own it, I don't._

_Next thing, I'm back to writing, but I won't be posting with the same frequency I was before. I'm still in some pain, and now I have less time. I'm hoping to get a chapter up a week, but no promises on this one. Because of this, I won't start posting the post-Lauren, Prentiss returns case-fic I planned until after this story is done, or at least close to done. _

_Last thing, the Grief Series, the post-Lauren short story series I was working on is no longer timely, so I've pretty much given up on that. If you're interested however, let me know, if there's enough interest, I'll start work on it again. I have half of the stories started anyway._

_All that said, thank you for reading, and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated!_

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_As we do at such times I turned on my automatic pilot and went through the motions of normalcy on the outside, so that I could concentrate all my powers on surviving the near-mortal wound inside."_

_- Sonia Johnson_

Morgan rolled over in his sleep and bumped into something, forcing his head to wake just enough to remember what and why. But, that something was much furrier than his companion from earlier in the night. Morgan sighed loudly. "Clooney, you know the rules, foot of the bed only."

The dog only groaned in his sleep. Morgan rolled his eyes, and pushed himself up. Not Prentiss, just Clooney. He nudged the dog awake. Clooney turned his head with a whine. "Foot of the bed only." Morgan pointed.

Reluctantly, Clooney moved to end of the king-sized bed, shooting Morgan pathetic puppy eyes as he moved there.

"Oh, don't you give me that, I spoil you plenty." Sighing again, he climbed out of bed, and headed downstairs. He heard soft thuds behind him as Clooney jumped from the bed, and clicking nails on the wood floor as he followed. "Not breakfast time yet, boy."

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he made his way into the living room, and found her exactly where he expected. The light from the window illuminated her slightly, pouring pale blue over her face, while the rest of her body was covered in the navy throw from the back of the couch.

No, that throw was not his decision. Men did not buy things like throw blankets; that was a definite chick thing. But, having two sisters and a mother meant his apartment had a slight feminine touch, because of course, all three had to have a hand in decorating. Especially, when he didn't care one way or another. And, he would admit under nothing less than a firing squad that he'd actually curled up in the throw blanket more than once.

He sat down beside her. The mug in her hand was still half full, but there was no sign of steam. She'd been up for a while, and yet, it was only about five-thirty. This wasn't unusual though, not for the last six weeks at least. Just like it wasn't unusual for her to be in his bed, or him to be at her apartment in her bed. She liked to have him close enough to touch-though preferably not actually touching, unless she initiated it.

The first time it happened, it had actually been an accident. She'd had a nightmare, and he'd gone into the spare bedroom she was using to comfort her. He'd fallen asleep. The next night she'd also had a nightmare, but this time, she'd asked him to stay. They'd gotten comfortable with that arrangement in the week she'd stayed with him. When she'd gone back to her apartment, there was a lot of late night phone calls, and then every few days she'd knock on his door in the evening, go-bag over her shoulder, looking like she hadn't slept in days. And, days when she had therapy were always bad, so he headed straight to her apartment after work.

Morgan gently removed the cup from her hands-which was cold-and held one of her hands in his. Emily was engaged in a rather intense staring contest with the empty space in front of her. "Do you want to talk about?"

She shrugged. "Story never changes."

She never wanted to talk about it, and he didn't want to push. "You know I'm here if you want to right? And, you can wake me up after you have a nightmare?"

She finally turned, and offered a small, rare smile. "I know...thank you."

"Anytime, princess."

She sighed and intertwined their fingers. "I have the shrink tomorrow."

"Is she helping?" She'd be seeing the therapist the last four weeks, though with extreme reluctance.

"She's trying...I'm being difficult though."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh? How's that?"

"She wants me to talk about it, but I don't want to. She says I have to face it to get over it, and I don't want to face it. I just want to bury it," she said.

"If you're not ready to talk about it, you're not ready."

Emily nodded, silent for a few seconds. "I feel like I'm being weak."

"Because you don't want to talk about it?" He asked.

"Because I can't talk about it, Morgan."

* * *

><p>"You haven't mentioned the gun you're wearing." Dr. Thigotee nodded to the Glock 19 strapped to her hip for the first time in six weeks, well seven technically.<p>

"The Bureau psychologist cleared me for fieldwork yesterday afternoon." Emily shifted nervously in her seat. Four weeks here, and she still felt like she had ants in her pants. She hated shrinks, and she hated the idea of anybody trying to get into her head.

The irony of that hadn't escaped her.

"How do you feel about that?" Thigotee, Ann, was about Emily's age, attractive and stereotypically bespectacled. She also seemed to have infinite patience, which Emily felt was an almost intolerable quality. For a shrink though, a good one.

"Happy, nervous, comfortable..."

"Nervous and comfortable?"

"I'm comfortable, because this is what I do, and it feels like everything's starting to go back to normal. I'm nervous, because I know it will be different now; I know that I'll probably empathize too much, and might have flashbacks, and it will be hard at first."

Thigotee nodded. "I appreciate your realistic view, Emily. Tell me why you feel happy."

She inhaled. "Uh, I guess because I'll be with the team again, _part_of the team again."

"Haven't you been since you returned to work four weeks ago?"

"Not really. I was there, but I didn't go with them on cases, so no, not really."

Another sage shrink nod. "And, being part of your team again is important to you?"

"Yes, it is."

"Tell me about that."

"Uh, they're...well I..." Emily sighed. "This is hard to explain. Growing up my parents were hardly ever in the same room together, and we traveled so much that the idea of family or friends was really more like a fantasy. The team is the first group I ever really belonged to, and being with them, being part of them, it's not quite that 'everything's right with the world' feeling, but it isn't far off."

Thigotee inhaled. "Let me ask you something, Emily. Do you feel you're ready to go back into the field?" Emily went to open her mouth, but the doctor held up a hand. "Don't just say yes, I want you to really think about this. I know I don't have to remind you that your job isn't typical, and that if it were, this would be easier. Unlike most other survivors of sexual assault, you deal with rapists and killers every day. And, I know you've been doing consultations for the last four weeks, but this is different, and I know you know that. This is crime scenes, distraught family members, possibly even live victims, and going face to face with suspects. Are you really ready to go back into that world, Emily?"

As requested, Emily was silent for a while, processing the good doctor's words. Then she inhaled. "I know all that, and I know there will never be a point where I can just jump back into it like what happened didn't happen...but it's what I do, what I want to continue to do, and yes, I'm ready to get back into it."

"Then why say 'what happened' instead of saying what actually did happen?"

Emily struggled to keep the annoyance off her face. "Because, saying 'what happened' is shorter than saying I was held hostage for a week, witnessed four murders, including that of a two year-old boy, and was beaten and raped repeatedly."

* * *

><p>"Hey, you got cleared for the field yesterday, right?" JJ asked, barely slowing down, attempting to grab the door to the BAU around the stack of folders in her arms.<p>

Emily grabbed it for her. "Yeah, we have a case?"

The energy coming off the media liaison was enough to tell her what was going on, and she wondered if she was late to the party or arriving just in time.

"Yeah..." JJ stopped suddenly, and Emily nearly ran into her when she turned. The look in her blue eyes said it was going to be a hard case. "Em, it's a serial rapist."

Her mouth opened in surprise, and then she just sighed. "Bound to happen sooner or later."

JJ stared at her a minute longer, and then nodded, giving her hand a squeeze, before heading up to Hotch's office. Emily went to her desk, seriously wondering if she'd done something in a past life to have earned the emotional hell she was still suffering through. She could sit out for this one, start field duty on the next case to come in, but if she couldn't handle their cases, she really was useless.

She already kept Morgan sleep-deprived a few days a week (at least), and felt like she was still scared all the time. Hell, at her house, she slept with her gun under her pillow, and if she had a nightmare, she was a wreck for the rest of the night. Her sense of security was destroyed, and her confidence wasn't faring much better. She could fake being confident, but in reality, there wasn't much left to her. It made her wonder how much more of a mess she'd be if she wasn't in therapy.

"Morning Emily," Reid greeted, from his desk.

"Good Morning, we've got a case, I just ran into JJ."

He frowned at the empty coffee cup on his desk. "I better get a refill before we start." Then he grabbed his over-sized coffee mug, and headed into the break room.

Emily sat down, and sighed at the sight of more mail on her desk. Letters and cards from random strangers who'd followed the news broadcasts, and felt compelled to offer her words of comfort or praise. And, the sickos who sent creepy letters about how much they wanted to protect her. Those she plucked out and handed to Garcia to run background on and start a file, just in case. Today looked like two cards and three letters, which she tossed on top of a legal pad.

She was getting up again when Morgan came in with two cups of coffee in his hands. He set one down in front of her. "Hey, you're a little later than usual today. Everything go okay?"

She reached into her bag and pulled out an orange prescription bottle, and wiggled it at him. "Thigotee insisted I get it filled that way I'd have it whenever we get a case, which by the way, is now. JJ is in with Hotch."

Morgan frowned. "What is it?"

"Xanax. Apparently it has fewer side effects that the other benzos."

"She suddenly decided you need tranquillizers?"

Emily sighed. "She's afraid a case might trigger an anxiety attack or something, wants me to have them just in case. Don't tell Hotch though, I don't need him worry over me."

"I'm sure he already does."

"Fine, I don't need him to worry any more over me."

He nodded, and grabbed a pad of paper off his desk, as Emily did the same, and he let her lead the way to the conference room.

She had come back to work after two weeks out, after the bruising had mostly faded, and she'd begged Hotch to okay it. The first week was part-time, but since then she'd been there regular hours. The team had been out of town twice, and both times she'd found herself finding excuses to hang-out with Garcia. She'd just passed the Bureau PTSD screening late yesterday afternoon, not that that was particularly hard.

And, the bandages came off her wrists two weeks ago. She'd already made a point to wear long sleeves, but the last two weeks she was extra careful. Her wrists were not pretty. The layer of skin had grown back-sort of. The doctor explained what it was, not really skin, but something else that she didn't pay much attention to. There was an inch and a half thick strip on both of wrists of hard, bumpy, red whatever. Sometimes, it still ached, but the doctor said that could last a while. He said to take tylenol.

"Hey, JJ told me we have a new case." Garcia met them at the conference room door, all smiles and sunshine as per usual.

Emily knew it had taken all the redhead's self control not to mother her over the last month. She appreciated her friend's restraint. Even banged up and psychologically dysfunctional, she still couldn't handle coddling.

She offered Garcia a smile. "Yeah, Reid went to get more coffee, and everyone else should be in here any minute."

"Reid's already had two cups this morning," Morgan commented.

"Boy wonder's got to keep himself running, handsome," Garica said. The youngest profiler chose that moment to enter, sitting beside Garcia, sipping his coffee and oblivious that they'd just been talking about him.

They didn't have to wait long for JJ, Hotch and Rossi to join them. The media liaison swept in, distributed folders, and grabbed the remote to start the case presentation in one smooth move.

"Ryeburg, Vermont has a serial rapist. Four victims so far, all between the ages of 23-30, but no distinct physical type beyond thin and pretty. They are professionals in white collar jobs, but not necessarily the high-powered career types. Two secretaries, a paralegal, and a intern at a health clinic." JJ patiently flicked through the photos of the victims, deep resignation in her voice.

"He waits until late at night, breaks into their homes, chloroforms them, strips them, and ties them to the bed. The only injuries sustained were those received from the rape. Once he's done, he pockets the condom he used, uses the chloroform again, and then leaves, but not before brutally slaughtering and display their pet or pets." She clicked onto two new photos.

"Oh! Oh my god!" Garcia yelped, ducking her face toward Reid, one hand held covering her eyes. "Why! Why would you do that to sweet, cute fuzzy creatures!"

Not knowing what else to do, Reid gently patted her shoulders, looking a bit awkward with his task.

The photos were of a dog and a cat, the dog had been ripped open and nailed to the inside of a door, and the other, a cat spread eagle on a table, a long cut down it's belly, and it's head stuck on top.

JJ clicked back to the FBI logo. "Pictures are gone, Garica."

She straightened back up. "Sorry."

The media liaison then nodded toward Hotch. "Ryeburg is a quite little town with a small, sparsely used Sheriff and a handful of deputies. They aren't equipped to deal with this type of offender, and I don't know what we can expect from their case files."

"Will we have access to the victims?" Rossi asked Hotch and JJ.

She answered. "Three of the four. The second victim tried to kill herself, she's an inpatient at Meadowlark Psychiatric Hospital. The sheriff said we could attempt to speak with her, but not to expect much."


	2. Chapter 2

_Couple things I forgot to mention. The original story was written around this time last year, so this is set early on in season 6, before JJ leaving, and before Emily's CIA history was revealed. Also, I made up Ryeburg, and I'm taking liberties with Vermont's criminal justice and child welfare systems. While this is about an adult topic, it won't get graphic (sexually or violently), so I think I'm leaving it at a T rating. If anyone has any objections/thoughts, let me know._

_Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and happy Fourth of July weekend!  
><em>

* * *

><p>The police station in Ryeburg was fairly small, but bustling when they arrived. During the flight, Reid had informed them that Ryeburg had a population of approximately 17,500 people, with the data skewed opposite typical population models. There was a smaller percentage of children than typical, but that was growing. The nineties had seen many of the young adults leaving and starting families elsewhere, and the remaining population aging. Recently, families had begun to move back in, and the percentage of children was inching up every year as people began and expanded their families.<p>

Hotch could understand when they were coming back, it was a beautiful little town, and now in early autumn the trees were turning yellow and orange and red. The weather was chilly, but not uncomfortable, and people were already setting up Halloween decorations. Even the police station screamed 'happy, family town', with it's share of festive autumn decorations on walls and desks. It was likely someone's wife was responsible for the decorations.

JJ lead them to the Sheriff, and accepted his hand. "Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone this morning, and these are Agents Hotchner, Reid, Rossi, Prentiss and Morgan."

He nodded to each of them as JJ said their names, but stopped abruptly and went back to Prentiss. He frowned, and opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. "James Proctor. Welcome to Ryeburg, folks. We're happy to have your help, I'll show you where you can set up...Agent Hotchner, if my understanding is correct, you run this show?"

"Yes, that's correct," he said.

"Great, this way." The sheriff waved them to follow, and led them to a decent-sized conference room, where a table held four banker's boxes. "Everything we have is in those boxes. We're small, so all of my detectives are on this, if you can't find me feel free to ask them for anything you need."

"Thank you, Sheriff," Hotch said, his team already digging into the boxes.

"You mind if I have a word?" Proctor asked, gesturing outside the conference room. Hotch nodded, and followed Proctor to his office, which while small, was filled with commendations. And piles of paper work and case files, which Hotch could relate to a little too well. He hadn't seen the surface of his desk in half a decade.

"Agent Hotchner, I'm lousy with names, you can ask my wife, but very rarely do I forget a face, especially when it's been on my TV non-stop for the last seven weeks. And, I don't mean to question your judgment, but frankly, I fail to see the wisdom to having a woman, who if memory serves, was raped and abused by a former boyfriend less than two months ago, working on a serial rape case." The man was unhappy, but frankly Hotch didn't care.

"I understand your concerns and I appreciate your discretion. But I assure you Sheriff, Agent Prentiss has passed the appropriate physical and psychological screenings to be cleared to return to field duty. Regardless of what she might have suffered in the past, I'm confident of her professionalism and in her ability to contribute to this team."

Proctor sighed. "I don't doubt that she's good at her job, I just..." He trailed off and sighed. "Does she really need to be looking at this shit right now?"

Hotch softened his demeanor slightly. "This is what she does, Sheriff, and this is what she needs to do to prove to herself that she can still do it."

He was still shaking his head, but there was resignation in it now. "Did you know TrueTV is running a special on her tonight?"

"I'm sorry?"

"For the next three nights, so my wife tells me. You ought to be aware of that."

"Thank you, Sheriff." Then Hotch turned and went back to the conference room to find his team already swimming in paper. A three night special on Prentiss was the last thing any of them needed or wanted on her first case back. "Morgan, Prentiss, interview victims one and three, JJ victim four will be coming here, I'd like you to interview her, Rossi and I will go to last night's crime scene, and Reid, work on the geographic profile."

After a few seconds of initial surprise at his abruptness, and obviously unhappy face, the team all nodded, and Morgan and Prentiss closed up their files and headed to the door. Rossi remained seated, waiting for a signal that they were going to leave. Instead Hotch waited for the door to close, and addressed the surprised face on the laptop in the center of the table. "Garcia, look up the TrueTV line-up for tonight, there's a special airing...?"

"Looking for something to watch, Aaron?" Rossi looked more amused than puzzled.

"Uh sir, are you referring to the thing on Emily?"

"Yes," he shot Rossi a look, "you're familiar with it already?"

"I've seen trailers for it, they started advertising last week. Really heavily advertising." He could see her shift around uncomfortably at her desk.

"What can you tell me about it?"

"Uh hang on...got it, it's a three night special, ten pm slots, so you know it's big. Tonight is supposed to be the early years, on both Emily and Bennett, everything up until his wife's murder, tomorrow night is Sarah Bennett's murder and him abducting Emily and his kids, and Wednesday is everything following. I can troll some message boards and blogs, see what the gossip is...?"

He frowned. "If you have time, the case is priority."

"Of course. sir. I'm cross-referencing as we speak." He had no doubt about that. He nodded to her, then turned to JJ.

"Keep an eye on the local press, if they find out Prentiss is in town working on this investigation, it could turn into a circus very quickly." He knew it was unrealistic to believe this would die in six weeks, but he was actually hoping a little for a natural disaster to hit somewhere.

A big one. Soon.

* * *

><p>"So, I say we visit Majorie Hanson first, and then Becky Lawson, she works at a mental health clinic, that seems like a place we'll want to look at for a suspect," Morgan suggested, climbing into the driver's seat of an SUV.<p>

"That works." Emily buckled in, and pulled out their file on Majorie Hanson's attack.

The twenty-nine year old had been the owner the two cats, before she went to bed one night and woke up to meet their unsub. After he'd left, still naked and terrified, she'd called 911 and swaddled herself in a blanket. It was fortunate that it was the paramedics who'd found her feline friends, Jeremiah, the fluffy orange tabby, and Keaton, the gray short-hair, dismembered and displayed in a ceramic fruit bowl.

"Why does he kill the animals, why does he need to do that?" Emily looked at Morgan.

"I don't know, to add insult to injury? Animals provide people with comfort and companionship, dogs provide protection."

She frowned. "So he what, wanted to completely annihilate their sense of security? He didn't think tying them to their beds and raping them in their own homes would accomplish that?"

Morgan held up an empty hand. "Alright look, let's back-up and simplify this, pretend the animal slaughter isn't attached to rapes. We are the unsub, why do we feel compelled to kill these animals, why display them?"

She sighed. "Well, you can't break-up the crimes until we decide who the anger is directed at, the women or the animals?"

This was okay, this was good. She could profile, she could work, and block everything else out. That's what she was so good at after all, compartmentalizing. If she was working on a case then everything personal and miserable got chucked into a box and sealed up for a while. And, it was nice just being with Morgan.  
>z<br>She wasn't oblivious, she knew the Sheriff had recognized her, and that in all likelihood his 'word' with Hotch was about her. Whatever he'd said to Hotch had clearly annoyed the Unit Chief, and made him want to get her out of the station. It pissed her off, but whatever, she preferred being in the field anyway. And maybe most important, Morgan didn't exude worry like the others. Sure he was concerned, but his particular breed of guard dog wouldn't pounce unless she indicated distress. She preferred being under his eyes than all five of them at any rate.

"Good point," he said. "Well, how much could a cat or a dog really piss someone off?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, maybe it's not at the animal exactly, maybe he's pissed because a pet was something he was denied as a kid, or maybe his pet was killed when he was a kid, his father shot it or his mother...cooked it, something traumatic."

Morgan actually chuckled. "So Mrs. Martin cooks up Lassie steaks, and Timmy's so disturbed he grows up to be a serial rapist?"

"Well, wouldn't that disturb you?"

"Definitely, but I think I'll let you explain that theory to Hotch."

"Or not," she said. "Well, what reasons can you think of to hate pets?"

"Uh..." He took a hand off the steering wheel to rub his neck. "Dog bit him when he was a kid, or his favorite pet ran away, abandonment issues are always big."

"Alright, I don't think being bitten once would generate this level of pathological hate. Abandonment maybe, if his family dynamic was already screwy."

"Screwy family dynamic is pretty common among sex offenders."

Emily sighed, studying the photos, the horrific acts of violence. "Or maybe this damage is just the beginning."

Morgan glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

"What if the animals are just substitutes for the women? If he's not emotionally able to brutalize the woman like this yet, so he's deflecting it on the animals."

Morgan was silent, considering that. When he did speak, his voice was low. "If that's the case, we need to find this guy and quick."

* * *

><p>"That was about Emily wasn't it?"<p>

JJ looked up at Reid's question. Hotch and Rossi had already left to examine the newest crime scene, and they were alone in the conference room now. He'd been silently plotting points on a map, and she'd been patiently studying files. Well, nothing was ever entirely silent with Reid, he tended to talk to himself a lot.

"You mean Hotch's meeting with Sheriff?"

He nodded. "He recognized Emily, or her name."

JJ sighed. "I bet a lot of people will, Spence. It's going to make working that much harder."

"What do you think he said to Hotch?"

"I don't know, but based on Hotch's reaction, I'd imagine the Sheriff wasn't thrilled to have her here," she said.

"He hasn't seen her work, it's not really fair to make a determination on her abilities based on news reports."

"I don't think he cares about her abilities, Reid." There was a deep frown in his face, and he was being uncharacteristically dense. "What's really bothering you?"

He cleared his throat, and leaned on chair next to her. "After Hankel, it was...hard for me. It wasn't just the drugs, the first few cases, it was difficult to be objective. It was all very, uh raw, and I had to figure out a way to distance myself while I dealt with it." He cleared his throat again, and it was clear to JJ how difficult this was for him. "That was hard enough, but no one outside of the team knew; I didn't have people questioning whether I should be on cases, or Hotch angry over the possibility of a press swarm."

"True, but you had your own set of problems, and you got through it fine. We'll just do our best to shield her from everything, and give her the time she needs." JJ had similar concerns, but there was nothing they could do about any of it.

They were the ones that put Emily's face all over the news for a week, that made her news. And, then some idiot cop went and spilled his guts to a reporter, and within 12 hours, the entire country knew that Bennett had raped her. JJ had been furious, still was, but they couldn't un-ring that bell. All they could do was try to manage the locals and the press enough to do their jobs.

Reid nodded, and went back to his map. He was only there for five minutes, before she heard him sigh. "This isn't going to help."

"What?" She looked up. His eyes were on the map, but he didn't look happy.

"The unsub's comfort zone is the entire town." He gestured to the pushpins around the street map. Small towns made some of their tactics null, geographic profiling was usually one of those.

"Yoohoo!" A familiar voice suddenly sang at them. They followed it to the laptop, where Garcia's face was visible from her office. "Is it just you two?"

"Yep, everyone else is in the field."

"Alright then, first thing, I finished cross-referencing, and I don't know how much it will help. It's a small town, there was lots of over-lap among these ladies. I think there is literally one grocery store, one bar, and maybe two churches in town. I've sent it to your email, Jayje."

"Okay," the liaison answered. "Second thing?"

"I did a little trolling while I worked on this, and...well, has someone told Emily that they're running this special?"

"Don't think so, why?"

Garcia looked uncomfortable. "Rumor has it, they've dug pretty deep into her past. Former friends and former boyfriends will appear, people who saw she and Bennett when they were dating, that sort of thing. I've also seen rumors that they've got a source in the Bureau, which besides being a sleazy judas, means he or she has access to a lot of private information on Em. On the bright side, it sounds like they opted for a mostly positive portrayal."

"Mostly positive?" Reid asked.

"Honey, you saw the yearbook photo of her, that doesn't exactly scream 'well-adjusted young lady'. If there's anything there, they'll blow it out of proportion and dramatize it until we don't recognize her. So, yeah _mostly_positive."

"We'll talk to her when she and Morgan get back, Garcia," JJ promised. It won't make it better, but forewarned is forearmed, as they say.

There was a knock at the door then, one of the local detectives. "Agent Jareau, Stephanie Taylor is here to speak with you."

The latest victim. She rose from the table and headed to the door. "Thank you, Detective."

The young woman was in station, arms wrapped around her body, tense as a rubber band stretched to capacity. Blond hair fell down her back, and she regarded JJ with the same eyes she'd seen on a hundred victims. Zinging around rapidly, following every noise, every threat, and at the same time a little hollow, a little haunted.

Eyes she'd seen on Reid once a upon a time, eyes that Emily walked around with now.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you all very much for the reviews. I've been an absolute basket-case this week, and you encouragement has contributed to my decision that homicide is not an effective solution to a problem. No matter how tempting my co-workers make it. _

_ Someone said in a review that it was a hard story to read, I assume this means emotionally trying, so I'm going to pass on another warning; this chapter isn't any easier and the story is just going to get harder as it goes on. Just so we're all on the same page._

_And, I may not get to update next week, my schedule is pretty packed. Thank you for reading!_

* * *

><p>Majorie Hanson had been living with her sister since the attack, unable to return to her home without being paralyzed with fear. She sat on a blue microfiber sofa, a small, fuzzy golden retreiver puppy sitting in her lap. Red-gold curls flowed over her shoulders and down her back, and her aqua-colored eyes were unfocused as she gently stroked the puppy's fur. Morgan was unnerved that her behavior seemed to mirror Emily's from earlier that morning.<p>

They were seated across from the young woman on a matching loveseat. Prentiss was tense beside him, but her face was a mask of detached empathy. They were seemingly incongruent emotions, but not in this case. Anyone that knew her could see that under the empathy she usually displayed was a layer of forced detachment.

"Ms. Hanson, can you tell us about the evening you were attacked, what you did before you went to bed?" Emily leaned forward slightly as she spoke.

"Well, I got home from work around six, the usual time, and I made dinner. I fed-I fed-" her voice cracked, and her eyes grew wet. "I fed Jeremiah and Keaton, they uh, always met me at the door. Jerry would always start purring, and Keat has this squeaky meow, that was how they greeted me..." She wiped her eyes.

"Do you need a minute, Ms. Hanson?" He asked gently.

She shook her head. "I'm okay...um, I fed the boys, I made dinner, uh pasta. I ate in front of the TV, I don't, um don't remember what was on. Then I called Jess, my sister, and we talked for a while. She told me that Kelly, my niece, had started to walk. We talked for maybe an hour, and then I took a shower. There was nothing unusual that I noticed. I got into bed then, and spent about an hour reading before I shut off the light."

"This was pretty routine for you?" Emily asked.

"Yes, I don't tend to socialize much during the week, usually Friday and Saturday I go out, not that there's much to do here..."

"We need you to tell us about the attack, everything he did, the smallest thing could be important," Morgan said.

Majorie nodded, and swallowed. "I'm not sure when I woke up, but he was already above me. He was wearing a ski mask, and before I could do anything, he put a damp cloth over my mouth and nose. I was forced to inhale, it smelled...sweet. When I woke up again, I was blindfolded and gagged, and my arms were tied to the headboard. I was...was naked and I felt the b-bed move, like someone sat down. Then he put his hands on me, and he, he, he was-" She cut herself off, and took a breath, before leveling her gaze at Emily. "Do I really have to go through all this? I mean, you know what it's like, do you really need to hear it?"

Emily physically moved back and her mouth opened before she collected herself. "We study behavior Ms. Hanson, we need to know everything the man that attacked you did so that can find him."

She looked like she might cry, but then inhaled and looked away from them. "He...he started to touch me, he said, 'don't worry, it will feel good. Later, when he was getting close to...you know, he started saying, 'It's your fault, it's your fault," over and over again. He didn't talk other than that. He put his mouth on my...and used his tongue to make me..." she was cut off by a sob then, and the puppy took off from her lap. With a hand over her mouth, she struggled to keep her tears at bay. She looked at Emily. "Who, who does that when they're being...what kind of person...?"

With some reservation, Emily got up, and moved next to the young woman, offering a tentative hand on her shoulder. She said, voice soft, "It's not your fault, it was your body's natural response."

A few tears slid down Majorie Hanson's face. "I feel so dirty and no matter how much I shower it doesn't go away. I can't, I can't get rid of him, I can't wash it all away." Her voice cracked and finally broke then, a torrent of tears pouring down her pale face, and she collapsed into Emily, wrapping her arms around the profiler like she was some symbol of safety, of security.

It almost made Emily laugh. As the young woman sobbed hysterically in her arms, her mind was assaulted with her own horrific memories. She had tried to wash Chris down the drain several times, but the miserable bastard just wouldn't go.

* * *

><p>The ME had pulled out four drawers, each with a small body hidden under a sheet, and the autopsy table had the latest animal victim laid out. A St. Bernard named Angelo, who unlike the others hadn't been hacked into pieces. Rossi was loath to consider what the unsub had done to the poor animal instead.<p>

"Dr. Andrews finally got a chance to come over and assist me with the necropsies. She's a vet from one of the best hospitals in the state," Dr. Haverford, the ME explained.

Dr. Andrews was in her early fifties, and she was focused on the dog, a look of such heartbreak on her face, he wanted to erase the day from her memory. Clearly, the woman was a lover of animals, and this had undoubtedly tested her resolve and her stomach.

"What can you tell us?" Hotch asked, all business.

"Two dogs, three cats, the first four of which suffered various abuses which caused them to bleed to death. This last victim suffered internal bleeding from numerous forceful hits, before the assailant took the knife to it. If Angelo here hadn't bleed out, he'd have bleed to death on the inside," Haveford said.

Andrews inhaled. "They were healthy animals until that point. No mange, no fleas, a couple of them were a little overweight, but that isn't uncommon to see now. I obtained copies of their charts from the local vet, they were up to date on all their shots, all five of them."

"Can you tell what type of knife he used, Doctor?" Rossi asked.

"The edges of the amputations were ragged and messy, it wasn't a knife designed for this, and from the actual stab wounds, I'd say it wasn't very big either. It was serrated though, and I hesitate to say a steak knife, because he would need a lot of force to cut through the tendons and bone, but that's what it looks like."

"A steak knife." That didn't sound likely.

Haverford nodded. "If it was a good, sharp one, it could do this, but like I said, he'd need a lot of force."

"So, he's physically fit." He turned to Hotch.

The other man nodded, and looked at the doctor. "Any signs of hesitation?"

He shook his head. "Not even one, your boy is accustomed to this I'm sad to say."

After a few more questions, they thanked the doctors, and shook hands before heading back to the station. It was late afternoon now, and they didn't feel that much closer to catching the guy, but some cases went quicker than others.

* * *

><p>"What the hell is this?" Rossi blurted as they approached the station.<p>

There was a swarm of people out front, and a half a dozen news vans parked across the street. People with video cameras talking to people with microphones, a few actually shooting video with the station as the backdrop. Other people stood around with small digital recorders or camera's with large flashes, and even larger lenses. Several were on phones or staring down at blackberries or I-Phones. A half a dozen uniformed officers were outside, keeping the crowd of reporters at bay, and generally ignoring them.

"You think they're here for the cases or Prentiss?" Hotch turned to him, having slowed the SUV to a crawl.

"Crime reporters get information from individual cops, or they camp-out outside the victim's house. This crowd is here to see somebody, celebrity mongers," he said.

"She's not a celebrity."

Rossi cocked his head, offering Hotch a dubious expression. "Not in a traditional sense." He sighed, looking at the crowd. "But, the people out there, the ones who will be watching that damn special tonight, they look at Emily and what she went through, and they see more courage than they could ever imagine possessing, and that painful vulnerability that we all wish we didn't have. They're curious, and they want to be a part of it." He turned back to Hotch with a small smile. "And, it certainly doesn't hurt that she's beautiful."

Hotch didn't argue that, just grimaced as he drove toward the crowd, the uniformed officers springing into action, and moving people out of the way so they could park. Then it was a symphony of shouting and camera flashes, which didn't phase him, but seemed to piss Hotch off even more. The locals ushered them inside, and they soon found, it wasn't much happier inside. The sheriff had his hands on his hips, pacing outside his office, presumably waiting for Hotch.

"Agent Hotchner," he greeted, rushing over. "I can't have this going on outside my station. My people have work to do, they can't plow through those idiots every time they come and go. And, I-"

"Sheriff," Hotch said, holding a hand up. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but there isn't much we can do about it."

"Sure there is, send her home, those vultures will follow her straight away from here."

"She has a name, sheriff," Rossi said, keeping his voice as pleasant as possible.

"Fine, send _Agent Prentiss_home." He spared a glance at the conference room, but not for long.

"I will try to control the media as much as possible, but I won't remove one of my agents from the field for something that isn't under her control. Thank you, Sheriff." With that, Hotch swept by him, straight to the conference room. Rossi nodded to the Sheriff and followed Hotch.

Morgan and Emily had gotten back, the former blank-faced, but leaking anger all over the place, and the latter had her head in her hands, and looked like she was already emotionally drained. She looked up at Hotch. "He wants me gone."

He nodded. "Unless you feel like this is too much too soon, I don't plan on sending you anywhere."

The tension eased off her a bit. "Thanks."

"Did you learn anything new from the victims?"

She turned to Morgan, allowing him to start. "We think the unsub was probably sexually abused as a child."

"Oh?" This was interesting, not unusual, but it was a pretty quick conclusion to make.

Morgan leaned forward in his seat beside Emily. "He spoke to the women the way a sexual predator speaks to vulnerable prey. It's okay, it won't hurt, it will feel good, don't worry, it's our little secret."

"Yeah," Emily agreed. "That's when he's in control, when he loses it, he repeats it's your fault over and over again, and Becky Lawson described him as sounding almost frightened, even pathetic." She bit her lip. "He also performed oral sex on both of them until they achieved orgasm."

"That's new," Rossi said.

"It's like he's been trained to perform this way. He gives them what he's been taught to give them, but afterward he's takes control back for himself," Morgan added.

"That fits with what Stephanie Taylor told me. Except that she also said, he had difficulty keeping control. He'd get rough, squeezing her arms, grabbing her hair, then he'd abruptly stop. And, when he finished, he sounded almost like he was crying, and he was still saying, 'it's all your fault," over and over again," JJ said.

"The animals make sense under that context too, they're just serving as stand-ins for him," Reid offered.

"Until he's able to go after the real thing," Hotch said, expression severe. "If he was abused chances are child welfare was involved."

"Ah, and I see I once again have perfect timing, Greetings Bossmen," Garcia chirped in from the screen in front of JJ, a glance at Hotch and Rossi. "So, they asked me to look into child welfare before you got back, and I've got good news and bad news."

"Let's have it," Rossi said.

"Okay, good news, Ryeburg operates under the county system for child welfare, the Department of Child and Family Services, and I successfully got into their records. The bad news, DCF is a little behind in getting digital, they're only computerized for 1995 and after, before that you'll have to look at physical records," she explained to a quickly plummeting morale.

"If we give you some search parameters, can you narrow the list for us?" Hotch asked.

"Of course. Just starting shouting."

"He would be twenty or over," Rossi said.

"Remove anyone dead, in prison, or moved away, he still has to live in Ryeburg," Hotch added.

"Alright, I'm down to 13 names," she said.

"How many have juvy records?" Morgan asked.

"Uh...three."

"Alright, give us the three names, and addresses for them, we'll talk to them, and you dig up what you can on the remaining ten," Hotch instructed.

"Yes, sir. Names and addresses are heading to your phones...now."

"Garcia, do you have the address for the DCF office as well?" Prentiss asked.

"Should be appearing in a second or two, it's in the county seat of course, Bridesburg," she said. "About 45 minutes away."

Hotch nodded, and looked at Morgan and Emily, "You take the first name, and then head to Bridesburg, Rossi and I will take the other two names, Reid I want you to work with Garcia on the other names, and JJ do what you can to get rid of that mob outside."

"I'll take the Sheriff out and do a press conference after you guys leave, that should keep that busy for at least a little while."

"That's fine."

"You have any comments on the special tonight, Hotch?" She asked.

He frowned. "I spoke to Strauss earlier, the Bureau is aware of it, and issued a statement, you can use that."

"Special?" Morgan asked. Prentiss already looked a little paler.

JJ inhaled. "TrueTV is doing a three part special on Emily and Bennett."

The brunette's eyebrows rose. "Three parts? I didn't think I was that interesting."

"Tonight's the first part, sweetie. Everything in both your lives up to the murders in New York." Their attention went to Garcia, still plugged into the computer.

"What, like when we were dating?"

Garcia nodded. "And, your career, his family, that stuff."

Prentiss's face twisted up in disgust. "At least that explains all the press attention."


	4. Chapter 4

"Excuse me, we're looking for Jacob Freeling?" Emily asked, holding up her ID. Morgan pulled his out beside her, and smiled charmingly at the suddenly flustered young woman.

"FBI? Jake is a good guy, you guys have to be barking up the wrong tree," she insisted.

"We aren't here to accuse him of anything, Ms...?"

"Hanes, Kirsten Hanes."

Morgan smiled. "Ms. Hanes, we'd just like to have a short conversation with him."

The freckled, redhead looked between the two of them, face unsure and distrusting, but finally relented. "Alright, but you'll have to wait here. We don't allow visitors in the equipment room."

They nodded, and Kirsten moved from behind her desk, revealing a small baby bump, before disappearing through a door. Jake Freeling worked as a carpenter, and hadn't had a run in with any cops since he was fifteen. And, his record at DCF dead-ended after the investigation turned up no damning evidence of abuse.

It was started in 1995, just in time to make it into the digital system, after a teacher reported suspicions that Jake's mother was abusing him. The teacher's statement described a quiet eight year-old that recoiled at the touch of adults, and became aggressively defensive with the smallest provocation, as if he were used to fighting it out. He was in his mother's care, a woman who got by on low-wage temp jobs and welfare. Jake had one sibling, an older brother eleven years his senior. There was no record for Mathew, and he wasn't living in the house at the time of the social worker's visit.

"Yeah?" Dark hair and eyes to match, with the slim, but muscular figure of a young man, and facial hair that was a bit thicker, but not dissimilar to Morgan's. He smelled of wood chips and sweat, and held the distinct look of a man who just didn't have the time or energy to chat with a couple of FBI agents.

"Mr. Freeling?" Emily asked.

"It's Jake. Kirsten said you needed to talk to me?" He briefly glanced at the redhead climbing back behind the desk.

"It might be best to have this conversation in private," Morgan suggested. Rumors got started when people overheard bits and pieces of information, and if this guy wasn't involved, he didn't want that rumor spreading.

"Sure, come on." He led them outside, to a porch on the side of the house. "Now, what's this about?"

"We're in town investigating the recent string of rapes."

Jake snorted. "And, someone suggested me as a suspect? That's just great."

"We're wondering about your juvenile conviction for a small fire in an abandoned shed?" Emily asked.

"That was supposed to be expunged. It was dumb, I was hanging out with some friends, smoking weed, and one them dropped the match we used to light it, at least the second joint. That hole had nothing but a mattress, so the whole thing went up. It was actually a big fire, at least when I was fifteen it seemed big." He sighed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, turning it in his hands. "My brother met us at the station, and ripped into me something good. Told me if I get a history of fucking up all I'll ever be is a fuck-up like him. He made me help rebuild that stupid shed, and that's how I got started here. I liked it, and Ed, my boss, he needed some more help. But, that's it, nothing too exciting."

"What about your mother?" Morgan said.

He snorted again. "Wasn't living with her then."

He frowned. "There's no record of her losing custody."

"There wouldn't be, it wasn't official, I don't think. Matt, my brother, came by the house one day, I was almost ten, and he told me to pack. Got into it with our mother, told her he was taking me, and it wasn't a negotiation, even said he'd was willing to take her to court. I packed while they were having it out, and then Matt took me with him. We didn't have much, he had a record so the best job he could get was fixing long-haul trucks, but he never hit me, which is more than I can say for my mother."

"A social worker came to your house when you were eight, do you remember that?" Emily's voice was soft as she asked, trying to be gentle.

"Sure, wasn't much help, my mother could put on a real good show." The distain in his voice was enough to tell them he still hated the woman. But, he wasn't shy about voicing it, which didn't track with their profile.

They exchanged a look, and Morgan nodded at her, before turning and extending a hand to Jake. "Thanks for your time."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's it?"

"That's it," Morgan confirmed.

The 23 year-old looked bemused. "Nice cops, imagine that."

Then he disappeared leaving the two profilers looking slightly confused. Morgan turned to Emily. "I don't think I've ever surprised anyone purely by being nice...well, except you."

"Me? When was that?" Her confusion deepened as they headed back to the car.

"When you first joined the team, you said I was a nice guy with surprise in your voice, at least twice."

She ducked into the car, and then resumed eye contact. "That would have been years ago, how do you even remember that?"

Morgan shrugged. "Honestly, I was a little hurt that you clearly expected me to be an asshole."

Her expression turned apologetic. "That's a little harsh, and obviously, I didn't know you then, so you shouldn't consider that judgment. Clearly, whatever I thought, I was wrong."

"Clearly." He shot her a flirty smile, and winked.

"And, I see your ego didn't suffer from it."

* * *

><p>"Jordan Haggerty?" Rossi couldn't help but think how cliché they must have looked, two clean cut white guys in dark suit coats and grim faces, flipping open FBI badges. Thank god, he wore jeans.<p>

"Yeah, what can I do for the FBI?" He had a bottle of beer in his hand, and was squinting into the waning light. Alcoholic might not be a sufficient enough description.

Messy hair, no shirt and no shoes, but dark blue jeans with what was probably vomit down by the left ankle, that was his stellar look. And, his breath smelled like something had died in his mouth a week ago.

"You're underage, kid."

"I'm in my own home gramps, you can't bust me. It's my parent's call." Only 18 and such a mess already.

"And, where are your parents," Hotch asked.

He burped. "Don't know. You could check my neighbor Joe's for my mother, some time she's sucks him off for booze money. She doesn't like beer, prefers vodka. Dad won't give her money for it. And, he...well, he might be at work, or his girlfriend's, or Pumps with his buddy's. Hard to say."

"Pumps?" He was thinking strip club, but liked to think they had more imagination.

"Strip joint, his girlfriend works there."

"Classy."

The 20 year-old cocked a smile. "That's my old man."

"You have a rather long record of juvenile arrests, Jordan. Theft, assault, aggravated assault, animal cruelty, and breaking and entering," Hotch said.

"Only convicted on two, and I did my time."

"You set a cat on fire." Hotch was not about to banter with the kid.

"Yeah, so?" He reached a hand down, and scratched at his privates.

"Do you enjoy hurting animals?" Rossi asked, almost conversationally.

Jordan shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it takes the edge off."

Hotch's frown deepened beside him. "A social worker paid your family several visits when you were younger."

"Yeah, my little sister told one of her teachers that our father put his hand in her panties."

"That was the first one. You and your sister were left in their care."

He nodded. "My mother sent her to live with my aunt and uncle in New Hampshire, didn't like the competition for Dad's attention."

"The accusation was true then?" Rossi asked.

Jordan laughed through his nose. "That prick did more than that to her. And, if you're wondering, it was true when they came two years later after I broke my arm, and a year after that when I cut open my head. I was fifteen then, and they never found enough evidence to remove me from the home." He laughed after the last part.

"Did either of your parents ever sexually molest you?"

His face went stiff and angry quick. "No, my daddy isn't into boys, and my mother says I'm too ugly to look at. They just like to hit and name call. Come up with some good ones too."

"Are you aware there has been a string of rapes in the area with accompanying animal mutilations?"

He glanced between them. "And you think I had something to do with that?" He took a swig of beer. "Figures."

"You have an alibi for any of those days?" Rossi asked.

"Well, I don't know what days they were, except the last one. I heard about it the next day, and I was here, doing the usual, drinking and avoiding the whore and the prick."

"Can they vouch for you?" Hotch said, his expression already doubtful.

"She was passed out drunk, and he was at his girlfriend's that night." He suddenly looked away. "I guess it wouldn't matter if I said I didn't do it."

"Depends." Rossi studied. "Is there a reason we should believe you."

Jordan cleared his throat, and suddenly the pain of a lifetime flooded into his eyes. "When you hear a seven year-old girl screaming and crying, and you have to be the one to go in there afterward and pick her up, and wash off all the blood, because there is a lot of blood...he tore her apart inside...little girls aren't meant for that." He shook his head. "You don't ever want to hear that again, and you can't imagine hurting someone that way."

* * *

><p>"You know, he may not even be in those boxes," Emily said, as they pulled into the hotel parking lot.<p>

Two brown bankers boxes sat in the back seat of their SUV, both filled to the brim with files. They'd searched through every case file started at DCF between 1970 and 1995, when they started the digital system. There had been thousands of files, and most were pretty thin, and had they had to have plowed through about fifty or more boxes, which took them until almost midnight.

It had gone pretty quickly considering, they'd started at opposite ends, 1970 and 1994, skipped the girls, and then pulled the boys' files to check location. Any in Ryeburg were tossed into a pile to take back with them. Tomorrow they'd start going through that pile, weeding out the dead, currently imprisoned and relocated. Those with a record would go in a 'to interview' pile, everyone else earned a more thorough check. From the ten today, Reid and Garcia hadn't come up with much, though they did narrow down a handful to interview based on type of abuse and home situation.

"Yeah, well if nothing else we got a good work-out, right?" He threw the car into park and looked at her.

"That's how you're going to justify slogging through boxes for six hours?"

He shrugged. "We gave a little light to kids who were far too easily shoved in a storage room and forgotten."

She nodded. "I could live with that. All these kids are grown now though." Still, all their names would be running through her head for a while.

"Yeah, and hopefully their lives are better now." They both knew, odds were that many of them were still stuck in the circular pattern of abuse, either with abusive spouses, or abusing their own children. Sometimes, reality just sucked, and all the sugarcoating in the world couldn't sweeten it.

"Come on, let's get to our rooms, I get the feeling tomorrow is going to be depressing." She opened the door, and stepped out, heading to the motel, Morgan in step beside her. The rest of the team was already there, and Hotch had informed the desk clerk that they'd be by to pick up their room keys.

Emily texted Hotch that they were back with the files, and Morgan spoke with the clerk. Unfortunately for him, the clerk was male, so there was no flirting to smooth the process along. Though if Emily's assessment was right, this particular young man would have responded positively. When he presented Morgan with the keys and a flirty smile, she knew she was right. Morgan took the keys with a polite, albeit awkward thank you, and gestured her to start heading up.

"I think he was sweet on you, Morgan."

He shot her a look as they walked up the stairs, and when they got to the second floor he held the door for her. "224 and 226, We're that way," he gestured to the left, "And, unfortunately for him, I think I'm sweet on someone else."

She whipped around when he spoke, and he nearly ran into her. His words had been rather absent, paying more attention to where they were going than to what he was saying. She wasn't even sure he meant to say it, and the stunned look on his face seconds later confirmed just that. A slip of the tongue.

"You said we're two-twenty-what?" She covered quickly, turning back to the hall of doors.

"Uh, 224 and 226."

They made it down the hallway, and he handed her the key for 224. "Are you going to be alright tonight?"

It was her first night in a hotel room since the hellish week with Chris. Emily offered him a soft smile, and squeezed his hand. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks."

He squeezed her hand back, and they said good nights that were maybe a little more awkward the usual. Then the moment of truth.

Every hotel room on the planet looked exactly the same. Homey without really being homey at all. Queen-sized bed with an ugly floral pattern, drapes that used the same colors, cheap, dull artwork on the walls, flat screen TV, night table, lamp, and on and on. But the headboard was what really drew her attention. It was smooth, dark-honey colored wood, not the kind you could handcuff someone too.

And, then her gaze went to the bed, and her chest began to hurt. It felt tight and difficult to breathe, and her heart thumped quicker and quicker. She could feel that mattress against her back, Chris all over, pushing her into its thickness. She could hear JJ's voice on the TV, giving an update, and once again imploring the public to come forward if they have any information. The baby crying.

Wait. Her body tensed. There really was a baby crying.

It wasn't Carrie's cry though, this cry was unfamiliar to her. Emily pressed her ear against the wall. Yes, there was a baby crying in the room behind hers. None of it was real. Chris was dead, JJ was nearby, the whole team was nearby, and there were no children with her.

Okay, it's okay.

Emily backed away from the bed, and dug through her bag, pulling out the bottle of pills from Dr. Thigotee. She held it, and stared at the pills and contemplated taking one. Just for the night. Emily unscrewed the cap and shook a pill into her hand. They were a bluish-white, oval-shaped, and seemed so innocuous. Shaking her head, she quickly dumped it back into the bottle, fastened the lid, and buried back in her bag. She did not need a pill. She wasn't that messed up.

She _could_ _not_ be that messed up.

She sat at one of the wooden chairs in the set that matched the table, and took slow deep breaths, silently telling herself to get a grip. Her chest still felt tight, and she couldn't quite manage to calm down. Running her tongue over her lips, Emily got back up, and headed right for the door to the adjoining room. She unlocked her side, and walked into the small space, knocking on Morgan's side. They'd used these before when working late at night, or when someone couldn't sleep, or just whenever...

"Hey, you okay?" He answered quickly, concern already evident in the frown on his face.

"Yeah, I just...would you mind if we left these doors open tonight?" God, she felt pathetic. At least, she hadn't asked to crawl into bed with him yet, that was the next step.

"Of course not," he said quickly. Then he studied her. "Do you want to stay with me tonight?"

"No, I'm alright. Besides, if I can't make it one night in a hotel room by myself, I really shouldn't be here." He looked like he was about to disagree, but she held a hand up, and offered him a self-deprecating smile. "It's alright, we both know that's true. I'll see you tomorrow."

Emily reached out and hugged him then, holding him tightly and closing her eyes. He held her back, and she concentrated on that feeling, knowing she'd need it tonight.

She did not want to get into that bed, so she changed slowly, taking her time, even with the door open. Morgan seeing her in her underwear might be awkward for them, especially where they were now, but it certainly wouldn't be the end of the world. And anyway, since that week with Chris she'd been very diligent about keeping herself as covered as possible, she felt far too vulnerable when she wasn't.

Even her pajamas were long pants, and a long-sleeved shirt, whereas she used to sleep in shorts and t-shirts or tank tops. Emily turned the TV on, but muted it, and shut off the light, relying on the light from the television. She'd never been afraid of the dark, even as a kid, her mother wouldn't have stood for it. Slowly, she pulled the sheets back, and climbed into the bed. She made it all of two minutes, before the pounding of her heart and her white-knuckled fists told her it wasn't working.

She felt too trapped under the thick covers. Emily climbed out and threw a sweatshirt on, deciding instead to sleep on top of the sheets. That was better. Her shoes were by the bed, her Glock on the nightstand, she could run if she needed too. Not that she'd need to, but it did make her feel better. And, her heart began to slow, and she slowly drifted to sleep.

And, she dreamed.

Chris. His blue eyes staring into hers, fingers running over her face. She was so tired, was it ever going to end? He was nude, except for still glistening wet blood. It was from the people he killed, Emily didn't know how she knew that, but she did. He whispered sweet-nothings into her ear as he thrust himself inside her. The red on his body smeared slick and hot onto her as his skin brushed against hers. He told her he loved her. She felt sick.

His fingers brushed her cheek, jerking her awake. Except there really were fingers brushing her cheek, and a masculine form hovering above her. And, she'd swear, _swear_ she saw blue eyes.

Swear she saw Chris.

* * *

><p><em>Yes, you're all thinking, 'what the hell?' right now, I'm sure. I didn't resurrect Chris and this isn't taking a sci-fi twist, other than that, you've got to wait until the next chapter. And that kind of sucks, because I'm out of town most of this coming week, so updating is going to be hinky. I'm currently apartment searching in a city I've been to once for one day, so yeah, lots of fun. And, job hunting. And, kind of hating my life at the moment.<em>

_On that note...your reviews are really making my day right now, so thank you for everyone who's reviewed and will review. And thank you all for reading. _


	5. Chapter 5

_It's hot as hell. Anyone else hating this heat wave?_

_My plans got changed, so a few updates today (2 other stories in addition to this chapter). Next weekend will be a bit hinky, but I should be able to get something up during the week. This chapter takes a bit of a departure from the case, but the next one will pick-up where they left off on that front. Oh, and since so many of you have mentioned it in your comments, I wanted to let you all know, I will address the TV special on Prentiss more fully a bit later, but it won't be that much of a focus of the story.  
><em>

_Thank you all very much for the reviews, they are greatly appreciated. _

* * *

><p>Morgan was in a deep sleep when the screaming woke him up. Prentiss screaming. He'd never heard her scream before, and now it was more than a little unnerving. Even with the nightmares, she'd never woken up screaming. He shot out of bed, grabbed his gun, and was a foot from the adjoining door when he heard the gun shot.<p>

Her side was closed. And locked. That wasn't right, but Morgan didn't have time to analyze it. Morgan drew his leg back, and thrust it forward, sending the door splintering inward. The room was dark, but he could make out a figure on the floor, half sitting, and holding...his, yeah Morgan was pretty sure it was a he, his leg. No sign of Emily.

He heard people in the hallway, but ignored the sounds as he aimed his weapon at the figure. "Do not move. I will not hesitate to pull this trigger if you so much as move an inch."

"Prentiss! Emily!" The team was outside, pounding on the door, calling for Emily.

"Hang on!" Morgan called back.

"Morgan? What's going on?" Hotch demanded through the door.

Instead of answering, Morgan kept his gun on the strange man, and moved to the door, flipped the deadbolt and removing the chain. He yanked the door open, and nodded the team inside, all of them in their pajamas, eyes wide, and hands wrapped around their weapons.

"What happened?" Hotch repeated.

"Is Emily alright?" JJ asked, glancing around through the dark.

Someone found a light switch, and Morgan got a look at the man on the floor. He was average-sized, with an unattractive shade of reddish brown hair, and a round, if forgettable face. His face was twisted in a grimace as he held his bleeding ankle.

"Oh Jesus." At her voice, Morgan glanced at JJ, and followed her eyes to the corner by the bed, where Emily had plastered herself to the wall. She was white as a ghost, her hands quaked in a barely visible trembling, and she stared at the man, completely stunned.

Reid had already pulled his phone out, and was calling for paramedics and the locals. The man was glancing at them wearily, and shooting nervous looks at Emily.

JJ moved around the man, over to Prentiss, while Morgan, Hotch and Rossi focused on the intruder.

"Who are you?" Morgan got in his face.

"G-George Liberman. Is she going to shoot me again?" He looked scared.

They turned to see JJ coax Emily back to reality, kneeling beside her and gently taking her gun.

"Not likely," Rossi answered.

"An ambulance and the Sheriff are on the way," Reid announced, snapping his phone shut.

Hotch nodded, and turned to Liberman. "Why are you here? How did you get in?"

He glanced at them. "I want a doctor."

The four men exchanged looks. Rossi crouched down, and motioned to him to move his hands. When he did, they all saw that it was barely more than a scratch. "You'll live."

JJ came back over then with Emily, one hand on her friend's shoulder. Prentiss had her arms wrapped around her middle, and still looked pale.

"Hey, you okay?" Morgan wanted to reach out, to hold her, but not with entire team in the room.

She nodded. "I woke up and he was leaning over me. I don't know where he came from, he was just there."

"Do you need medical attention?" Hotch asked.

"No. No, I'm okay."

There was a knock at the door, and an out of breath manager stood there with a team of paramedics, and several vacationing people rubbernecking into the room. The voice of the sheriff interrupted then, and calling to his men to 'get these people back into their rooms'.

He stepped into the room, and surveyed it with raised eyebrows. "So Agents, what have we got here?"

* * *

><p>"Garcia, what do you have?" Rossi answered his phone. They were at the station, all six of them. Morgan, Prentiss, Hotch and JJ were giving statements, he and Reid had already finished, after insisting that at least one of their team be present during the interrogation. Before they began, they were tracking down information on the man. The sheriff and a couple of his deputies were listening in with them.<p>

"Well uh, I know why his name rang a bell with me," she began, voice hesitant and anxious.

"Why's that?" He pressed.

"He's on the list weirdos. Every time Emily gets a bundle of fan mail, she gives me all the creepy ones, and I've been doing a little snooping and putting them in a little database. It was to protect her in case one of them got more aggressive than mail. But, I didn't think to check them all and see if any of them were in the area before you left. I should have...I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Garcia. Can you fax us copies of what he's sent her?"

"Sure. I made digital copies before I sent it off to Bureau storage. Give me a second and it will show up on your IPads." She cleared her throat and her fingers danced, clicking across her keyboard.

"What information have you found on him?" Reid asked.

"George Liberman, 37, never married, no children, and he actually lives in Meadowville, which is almost an hour away from Ryeburg. He works at a customer service line for Dell Computers, lives very much within his means, his only debt being the house he's paying a mortgage on. No strange charges on his credit or debit cards, no criminal record, but a woman named Joy Hepbrun filed a restraining order against him two years ago. From the text it looks like they were seeing each other, and when he started to get territorial and possessive, she broke it off. He started stalking her after that, following her, calling her, sending her flowers, chocolates, and cards. He's a total creep, guys."

Reid nodded, already studying the cards and letters he'd sent to Emily. "He's a narcissist."

"What can you two get from those letters?" The Sheriff asked.

"He's in a job he's too smart for, probably because he makes people uncomfortable, his attitude, his general demeanor, maybe even his mannerisms." Rossi said, studying the first card he sent. Really, he got that from what Garcia said, but the letters helped paint a picture. "He's convinced she needs protecting and he's the man to do it. It's a way for him to have power, and feed his ego. I guarantee you when we walk in there he's going to say he was trying to protect her, that's all."

"He also believes he loves her," Reid added. "And, he probably thinks she loves him, or will grow to, because he's her protector. He has sort of an old-fashioned and certainly archaic view of romance."

"So, you want to talk to this freak?"

Rossi nodded to his younger colleague. "Agent Reid will assist one of your detectives, if that's okay."

He sort of shrugged, so Rossi nodded Reid to follow Detective White. He and the Sheriff stood on the other side of the glass and watched.

"Mr. Liberman, do you make a habit of breaking into women's hotel rooms, and assaulting them in the middle of the night?" White asked, a pleasant, conversational tone behind his words.

"I did not assault her! I'd never hurt Emily! Don't you know she's been hurt enough, with what that animal did to her?" Liberman was tense, the muscles in his neck taught, his body rigid in the chair.

"You're referring to her abduction and rape," Reid commented.

Liberman turned to him. "Yes, I am, Agent Reid."

Reid didn't react. "Have you been watching everyone on our team too, or have you just noticed us as you were watching her?"

"I need to know who she spends time with, to keep her safe. I'd never forgive myself if I let her get hurt like that again."

The genius suddenly looked amused. "You say that like you know her. Like she even knows you exist."

Liberman lashed out, getting into Reid's face. "She knows I exist! I write her at least one a week, she came out here to see me!"

"Then why hasn't she visited you?"

He settled back in his seat. "She needed some time to sneak away, Emily is a very private person, and doesn't want attention on our relationship. You're the one who doesn't know her."

Reid continued looking amused. "You think so? Because I've known her for years now, and you've known she existed for what...not even two months?"

"You may have known her longer, but you'll never know her the way I do," Liberman seethed.

"Can I ask you...why Emily?"

He frowned, confusion written into the deep creases around his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm assuming you saw her on TV. What about her struck you?" Reid already knew, but he was curious what the man would come up with, what justification he'd use for stalking her.

"Her eyes." Liberman looked away, down at his hands, and then back. "She has these beautiful, soulful eyes, the color of black coffee, and the first time I saw a shot of her on TV there was so much pain in them. And, I knew, I knew if I could just be with her, I could make it all go away. I'd protect her and love her, and she'd love me, and we'd make new memories to cover up those bad ones. All that pain would go away. That's all I want, I want to make her pain go away."

Reid studied him for a moment. "Doesn't she get any say in that?"

* * *

><p>Emily sipped from the bottle of water they gave her, and tried to keep herself together. Could this really get any worse? No, bad thought. It can always get worse, life had taught her that more than a few times.<p>

"Agent Prentiss, are you alright?"

She looked up to see Detective Cheavers studying her, gentle green eyes searching her for signs of distress. She offered him a forced smile. "Sure, just tired."

"A few more questions, and then you can head back to the hotel with your colleagues. Alright?" He was about her age, and more kind than most cops, lacking the hard edge and cynicism they all seem to grow to possess. Locals and federal.

"Of course, go ahead."

"You said you'd never seen the man before, right? Nothing about him struck you as familiar?"

"No, not a thing...should I have known who he was?" Two a.m. wasn't her best time for mental recall.

"I was speaking to your colleagues, and it seems he's been sending you letters for weeks. His name is George Liberman, does that ring any bells?"

She tried to think, she really did, but nothing came. Emily sighed and ran a hand over her head. "I'm sorry, Detective, I just can't remember. There were a lot of weird and creepy letters, I only skimmed them and put them in a pile."

"It's alright. Just one more thing. You said you started screaming immediately, because Agent Morgan was in the next room and the adjacent doors were open so he could get in quickly, right?" He was reading from his notepad, fingers holding the pages in place.

"Yes, that's correct."

"Agent Morgan had to kick the door in to get into your room, your half was closed. Do you remember doing that?"

She frowned. "No, I definitely left it open. I asked him if he'd mind if we did, and then I went to bed."

"Can I ask why you wanted them open?" He flipped back to the clean page, and jotted a couple notes.

Emily inhaled, ran her tongue nervously over her lips. "Uh well, the last time I was in a hotel room...um, I was being held hostage, and I guess I was a little anxious about it."

He gently rested a hand over hers, and she had to aim her eyes at the table to maintain her composure. "We're done here. We'll hold Liberman over night, so you can sleep easy."

"Thank you, Detective." She pushed her chair back, and he held the door for her as she left.

The team was all congregated in the small bullpen, looking anxious and exhausted at the same time. When she caught Morgan's eyes, it took all her restraint not to just walk over and collapse into his arms. She'd been depending more and more on him lately, and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing. But, Emily couldn't deny that she felt safer with him around, that with just holding hands some of the anxiety and panic receded.

"Let's get back," Hotch said. "It's four o'clock already, and I want to be back here working on the case at eight."

Tired nods followed him out the door and into the two SUVs they'd taken. She sat in the back of one with JJ, who let her know that her things had been moved to a different room. It made her glad she hadn't really unpacked. It also made her nervous because this one definitely wouldn't be connected to Morgan's, and how was she supposed to even try to sleep without that?

She found in minutes, that the new room looked exactly like the old one. She changed into fresh pajamas and sat on the bed for a good ten minutes, making sure everyone was settled before grabbing her phone, gun, and room key, and heading out of the room. Her room now was next to Hotch and across from Morgan, which was fortunate. The rest of the team was on the other side of Hotch. She walked across the hallway, and gently knocked on Morgan's door.

He looked surprised and relieved at the same time, and opened the door without any hesitation. There was only seconds between when he closed it, and when his arms wrapped around her, and held her tightly. She held him back and tucked her head against his neck, a quiet sob escaping her mouth.

"I thought it was him," she said.

"What do you mean?"

She pulled her head up. "I thought Liberman was Chris. I woke up and he was there, and they look nothing alike, but for a minute they were identical."

"Were you having a nightmare before you woke up?" He asked. Emily nodded. "That's all it was, your brain was still half asleep."

"I know, I just…" Her voice cracked and no further sound came as she moved her mouth, and looked away.

Morgan pulled her closer, and she pressed her face into his neck again. The tremble in his voice startled her. "It took me until I was almost in law school to stop seeing Buford's face on every older guy I met."

The enormity of that admission wasn't lost on her, but rather than dwell on it, which he would not want, Emily just held him tighter. After a minute, Morgan pulled out of the embrace, took her hand, and gently led her to the bed. He crawled in and she followed behind him without thinking much about it, turning on her side, and half lying on his chest. Her cheeks were still wet when he pulled the blankets over them, and brushed his lips over her head.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh my god..." JJ breathed as they pulled into the police station, or at least tried to get to the station. The swarm of press had doubled from the day before, and this crowd didn't even include the mob waiting at the hotel when they woke up.

"Wow, even I don't draw this kind of crowd," Rossi commented from the backseat.

"This is not something to be impressed about, Dave." Hotch's cranky voice matched his stoic demeanor as he attempted to steer through the traffic.

"This is ridiculous. Let me out, so I can make a statement. I can distract them while you guys get inside." They would hound them all day about last night unless she gave a statement. Actually, they'd still hound them, but a little less aggressively.

Hotch turned to her. "Is that even safe?"

She actually smirked. "They don't actually bite, Hotch."

He nodded, but looked less then thrilled as he put the car in park, and nodded her to get out.

"She'll be fine, Aaron." She heard Rossi assure him.

"Excuse me, I'm SSA Jennifer Jareau, Media Liaison with the BAU. If I can have your attention, I've got a statement," she called over the buzz of the crowd, holding her ID up, and carefully moving back and away from the station.

They flocked toward her, suddenly growing quiet except for the whirr of video cameras, and the snaps of photos being taken.

"Thank you. As you've probably already heard, Agent Prentiss was attacked in her hotel room last night." A buzz welled up, and JJ held up a hand to quiet them. "She's unharmed, and is still participating in the investigation here in Ryeburg. The man who attacked her is currently in the custody of the Ryeburg Police, and is due to be arraigned this morning in the Carney County courthouse." She paused. "I can take a few questions."

"Is it true Agent Prentiss shot her attacker?" Mid-thirties, dressed casually and holding a notebook, JJ guessed that he wrote for a newspaper.

"Yes, the bullet grazed his right leg. He didn't even need stitches." He'd certainly earned worse in her opinion. The guys told her the profile, the guy was a total creep.

"Yes, Agent Jareau, have you determined his motive for attacking her?" Near forty with hair and make-up done to the nines, and an expensive skirt suit, this woman was a television reporter.

"I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to comment on that." She pointed to another reporter.

"Agent Jareau, the first segment of the TrueTV special on Agent Prentiss and Senator Bennett implied that she had some problems with drugs and alcohol and engaged in numerous sexual escapades in her late teens and early twenties...Does the Bureau have an official comment on that?"

JJ stood stock still for a minute before her brain began working again. "To my knowledge the Bureau has no official comment on the special outside of what I told you yesterday, but I will remind you all that if they just implied these things, they probably can't substantiate them, and that Agent Prentiss's record as an federal agent speaks louder than any indiscretions she may or may not have had as a kid." She inhaled. "Thank you, that's all I have time for."

She hurried into the building, ignoring the shouts of her name, the camera flashes and the questions that blended into the throng of voices.

* * *

><p>Later that morning, two profilers sat a few rows back on the county attorney's side of the courtroom, and tried not to look tired. According to the county attorney, Liberman stood a better chance of being remanded if Emily was present, proof that her work was being impeded. Hotch didn't want her going anywhere alone, so Rossi volunteered go with her. He was a veteran with the Bureau, recognizable, and one of her supervisors, so it made sense that he should go with her. Emily didn't really care that much, but she was glad to have someone with her.<p>

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, just...tired. Really tired." Rossi gently patted her hand, and she offered him a half a smile in return.

They waited through three other arraignments before Liberman's came up, and as soon as his name was called, someone ran out of the courtroom. She and Rossi both turned at the commotion, to see only the door swinging back. They'd barely turned back when a bigger commotion was heard, and Emily immediately whipped around, and sunk lower in her seat.

"Shit," she mumbled. Reporters, lots of them, were piling in to see the arraignment.

Liberman was finally brought in, wearing the same clothes he'd been in last night. His back was straight as he stood beside his attorney, and kept his hands loosely folded by his waist.

"Mr. Albright, I assume you want bail?" The judge asked, briefly glancing at the public defender.

"Yes, your honor. These are class B felonies, and my client has no criminal record, and a good job he's maintained for eight years. He also owns a home in the area, he's not going anywhere." He was young with dark hair and a smooth voice, and he wore a more expensive than average suit.

"And, what about it Ms. McKinnley can we come to an agreement here, say $50,000?"

Her suit was inexpensive, but her hair was neatly pinned, and she spoke clearly and confidently. "Your honor, this is a preventive detention situation. Mr. Liberman broke into the hotel room of a federal agent. I have copies of all the letters he's sent her, of which there are dozens, and a profile from FBI agents that says he's likely to continue to harass her as long as she's in town. I ask that your remand the defendant until the team of agents leave the area."

"Unacceptable, Your Honor. That could mean keeping my client locked up for months," Albright objected.

McKinnley all but glared at him. "Hardly." She turned to the judge. "Your honor are you aware of the recent string of rapes in Ryeburg?"

"I am, what does this have to do with that?"

"The agent Mr. Liberman attacked is on a team based out of Quantico, Virginia that's in the area to find that rapist and get him off the streets. Releasing Mr. Liberman onto the streets could severely hamper their efforts."

"If they're so hampered where are they?" Albright made a wide sweeping gesture around the room.

"Here," Rossi called, as they both got to their feet. Emily felt nauseous.

The courtroom suddenly broke out in the shouts of eager reporters and the flashes of cameras as they tried to get closer. Rossi put an arm around her and tried to shield her, as the judge banged his gavel and called for order in a tone that suggested he would have liked to throw the gavel.

"When the fuck did I become Madonna?" she whispered furiously to Rossi.

He whispered. "You're wearing far too much clothing to be Madonna."

The corners of her lips turned up a tiny bit.

"One more outburst like that, and I'll clear the courtroom, understood?" The judge surveyed the reports as he admonished them back to their seats. "Now, where were we?"

"Emily! Emily!" Liberman had turned around and was calling to her with a look of pure rapture on his face. She averted her eyes. "As soon as I get out of here, I promise I'll take care of you. You won't ever have to be scared."

"You see, Your Honor, Mr. Liberman is unlikely to leave her alone," McKinnley said.

"Yes, yes." He waved at her, and turned his attention to her and Rossi. "Agent Prentiss, you were the federal agent Mr. Liberman attacked?"

"Yes, Your Honor." She didn't want to know how he knew her name.

"It's been a rough few months for you, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

He finally turned his attention away. "Mr. Albright, your client seems to have no intention to leave Agent Prentiss alone."

"Your Honor, I don't believe my client is exactly well." Now he looked uncomfortable.

"Oh, you want a competency hearing then?"

The attorney looked at his client, who was still staring at Emily and making her skin crawl. "Yes, I think that's a good idea," he finally said.

"That sounds reasonable to you, Ms. McKinnley?"

"Yes, your honor, but we'd like to remind Mr. Albright that the People have a right to their own examination." She shot a look at Albright.

He looked almost relieved. "Fine with me. Name the time and date."

The judge held up a hand. "In the interests of expediency, I'll allow you two to arrange the psych exams yourselves. The hearing is set for-" he glanced at his clerk, who whispered something to him. "Thursday at 9:00. Agreeable?"

They chorused their agreement, Albright still looking wearily at his client, who was still staring at Emily.

"Then Mr. Liberman is remanded pending a competency hearing." He smacked his gavel then. "Next case."

"Thank god for that," Rossi commented.

She nodded. "Let's get back to work."

* * *

><p>Reid tossed half his stack of files onto the pile at the end of the table, and added the others to Morgan's pile. Hotch was chatting with Garcia, reading names from his own pile of possibles, separating out anyone with a record-juvenile or adult. JJ was pacing and flipping between news channels, phone to her ear as she spoke with the press secretary at the Bureau. If it had just been excitement over the case, she could and would have handled it herself, but being that half the vultures outside were there for Emily, she needed to consult with D.C.<p>

Hotch had been on with Strauss, and her boss earlier, trying to alleviate their concerns over Emily. They weren't exactly unsympathetic, but it would be easier to stick her on a desk until everything blew over. Dealing with the hype was complicated, and trying to keep it under control was near impossible, but fly Emily back to Quantico and hide her there for another few weeks, and things would go smoother in Ryeburg. Hotch had argued against that, loudly.

Reid glanced at the older man's face, and noticed that through his exhaustion, he couldn't quite hide the annoyance and worry behind his typical severe expression. The genius sighed and went back to his folder. A teacher reported bruises on the ten year-old boy in 1982, the boy had denied his parents' involvement, but a social worker investigated anyway. The child lived with his unemployed, alcoholic father, and was quickly removed from the man's custody.

Reid flipped the page to see a list of foster homes. The kid didn't spend more than 18 months at a single one, though one was a the home of a single woman. He tossed that in his maybe pile, which was unfortunately much larger than his discard pile. This little project was going to take forever.

"Oh hey," Morgan suddenly said, straightening up. "I've got a promising one here. A seven year-old was removed from his mother's custody in 1991, the mother was 23 at the time, and apparently a prostitute. He was placed with a temporary foster family for six months, then sent back to the mother, who'd cleaned up, only to be removed four months later, and placed with a woman who had two other foster kids. Two years after that, this woman is arrested for abusing the kids, the report describes burn marks to the children's genitalia and contusions from long-term restraints. This kid bounces between his mother and foster families for the next six years, until he runs away. That's the last thing in the file."

"How old was the foster mother?" Hotch asked.

"She was...29 when he was placed with her it looks like."

"Between the mother and the foster mother, that would certainly be enough to scar a child to the extreme anger we've seen. And, at least with the mother he'd be emotionally bonded so it might be difficult for him to show that anger. Did she sexually abuse him?" Reid asked.

"She was a prostitute, she brought Johns home while he was there, we all know that can scar."

"What's the foster mother's name?" Hotch asked, looking up from the laptop screen.

Morgan flipped through the file. "Sonja Carlsbad."

"I have one of the other kids removed from her care here." He held up the file. "Trevor Dawson, he was 11 when he was placed with her, 15 when they removed him. He was removed from his father and stepmother's custody, father was a traveling salesman though, never home."

Reid craned his neck. "Garica, can you look for a Sonja Carlsbad, Trever Dawson, and-" He looked at Morgan.

"Tate Hughes."

"Already working on it, sugar," she said. "Hey, I need to kill the feed a second. I'll be back in a couple minutes with your info. Garcia out."

"If she finds this woman, I want to go talk to her. If either of these kids were openly defiant we can cross them off the list," Morgan said.

He was right, the unsub would have been completely submissive and powerless as a child. No matter what his female caregiver did to him, he'd have simply taken it. That's why he was on the verge of exploding now, he never really dealt with his anger over that. Reid wondered how people could abuse their own children, even after all these years in the Bureau, even with his ever-rational mind, he still couldn't understand that.

"Take Reid with you," Hotch said, nodding his head at Morgan.

"I'm back lovelies!" Garica's voice broke back into the mix. "Trevor has a record as long as my arm, and is currently on parole, living in Bridesburg, and Tate is still in Ryeburg, married, no kids. Sonja Carlsbad was released from prison eight years ago, and since has been living in Hamburg, working in the warehouse of a 'As Seen on TV' type of company. Basically, she packs up thigh-masters and ships them around the country. And, the address of the warehouse and her apartment should be arriving on your cells any minute. And, I finally found a working phone number for Aidan and Marrisa Hobart, Marrisa formerly of the Haggerty family, and the aunt that took custody of Melody Haggerty, Jordan's younger sister. Marrisa, and I felt like a horrible, horrible person bringing this up, but I did confirm that her brother raped his daughter when she was seven. Marrisa wanted to take in both kids, but didn't have the money or the room, and Melody was in more danger, so they took her. She said she hasn't seen Jordan since Melody came to live with them, though the girl did ask for her big brother more than once. Looks like Jordan told you and Rossi the truth, Bossman."

"Thank you, Garcia," he said. He turned to he and Morgan then. "The boys are still in the area, which makes them potential suspects. Go talk to Carlsbad, see if you can't at least narrow this down."

Morgan was already moving while Reid straightened his pile. This case was turning out to be the proverbial needle in a haystack, and worse, they couldn't even be sure the needle was really in the haystack.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks again everyone who has reviewed, it makes my day! Not sure when the next update will be, but I'll try for sometime this week. <em>


	7. Chapter 7

"Victimology bothers me." Rossi turned at her statement, visibly surprised. They were on their way back from court, having fought their way out with the aid of the bailiff.

"Care to elaborate?"

She bit her lip and sighed. "A lot of the files we'll see, the caregivers for these children were...uh, not the most respectable people. These women he's attacking, they have decent jobs, they're good people, not the type you'd imagine would abuse children."

"Oh Emily, you know as well as I do all types of people hurt their children, and some are very good at appearing upstanding to the outside world."

She nodded. "Exactly, that's my point. I think we can use that to narrow down the search."

"You mean remove all the white-trash from the list." He glanced at her, and back to the road.

"I wouldn't necessarily put it that way, but something like that. We had to have brought back over a hundred files Rossi, and we can't be certain he's in there, especially considering victimology."

"You think we should pursue other leads," he said.

"Do we have any other leads to pursue?"

He seemed to consider that, and then swung the wheel around, turning away from the police station. Emily studied him. "Uh, Rossi?"

"It's noon, we'll grab lunch, and go over this again, yank something out."

She glanced at the road, and back at Rossi, then shrugged. She wasn't too enthusiastic about facing the throng of reporters at the station anyway.

They stopped at a local diner, grabbed food and iced tea, and then Rossi drove with a purpose Emily couldn't fathom. He took them straight to a lot with a dilapidated building, pulled around to the back in front of the a sign that said 'Employee Parking Only', and killed the engine.

"Charming spot for lunch," she said.

He smiled. "We're hidden here. No press, no gawkers. Take a minute to breathe, Emily."

She nodded. "And, here I thought I was covering so well."

"You're keeping it together enough to fool everyone outside the team, and considering last night, I think you're handling yourself admirably. Now eat something."

Feeling a little better than she had in days, Emily passed Rossi his container, and then opened hers. It was supposed to be turkey and swiss on wheat, and it probably was, but the smell of the fries that came with it distracted, and yanked her back in time. Her eyes became unfocused, her grip on the styrofoam box tightened, and she just froze, deep, uneven breaths coming from her mouth.

"Emily?" Rossi's voice. "Emily," he spoke more firmly, pulling her out of the memory. "What happened?"

She inhaled, and shook her head, closing the box, and reaching for her drink. Rossi's hand landed on top of hers and she turned to him. She felt jumpy and jittery now, the almost relaxed mood gone.

"Talk to me, don't bury it," he coaxed, softly.

"It's fine, it's nothing."

"You're as tense as a rubber band, and your pulse is racing. It wasn't nothing. Talk to me, Emily." His dark eyes were burning into hers, asking her to trust him.

Emily swallowed, and ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "The smell of the grease. When you spend days eating it, it permeates everything. When he got close to me, I could always smell it in his hair, sometimes on his skin. Sweat and grease."

Rossi squeezed her hand, and then opened his door, nodding her to do the same thing. He climbed out with his food in one hand, and drink in the other, walking around to the back of the car, and handing her the box while he pulled the back open. "We can get a little fresh air, while we eat."

She offered a tired smile, and a nod of appreciation. She felt like a headcase.

"So, what do we know about these women, besides that they have respectable, though not high-paying or powerful jobs, and that they're between 23-30?" He launched right into work, taking a bite of his pastrami on rye.

"Uh, well they're all single, not much for social lives, so probably pretty introverted." She sipped her tea, still not quite ready to open the box again. "They're the quiet girls, the ones who always did well in school, but never participated in clubs or sports. They're smart enough to do more, but because they're so shy, they stick with what's comfortable, even if it's way below their abilities. They'd be easily intimidated by a strange man in their bedrooms. But, they have their own homes, they're independent, not waiting for a husband. So they can take care of themselves and would be cautious, like any woman that lives alone."

Rossi took a drink. "So, he attacks women that have developed their own sense of security living alone, but would probably not fight back much. This doesn't sound like he's killing the woman who abused him."

"No...it could be that he's attacking weaker women because the stronger ones are too frightening for him. He can't dominate a woman like the one who abused him, but these women he could."

"He's searching out women he can dominate, but still, he reaps his violence on the animals, not the women?"

Barely paying attention, she opened the box, and took a bite of the sandwich. The grease smell dissipated through the air, and didn't yank her back. Now, if she could actually eat a french fry, she'd be really proud of herself. "Well, I think it's obvious that he's very conflicted. He's punishing her, but he can't truly punish her, not yet. Maybe, he's never admitted what she did to him, not even to himself. He's used to suppressing fears and anger, and it's hard to break that pattern."

"So you're thinking that he's still attacking the woman who abused him, but part of him is still afraid of her, so he goes for weaker women, and aims his violence at their pets instead of them," Rossi confirmed

"Maybe..." She paused thinking and chewing, before another thought struck her. "What if he sympathizes with her?"

"His abuser?"

"Or maybe even just the victims. He's abusing them like he was abused, what if that's why he can't hurt them, because he sees himself in them too?"

He nodded. "I can see that." Then he seemed to settle into watching her, that pleased with himself smile on his face.

"What?"

He gestured toward the hand she was eating with. "How're the french fries?"

Emily looked at her hand to find the object she'd been nibbling was not a piece of sandwich, but the stub of a golden french fry. She let out a breath and said simply, "Good."

They found her working in the warehouse, camo-green smock tied over her clothing, her long ash blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail. She was thin, her fingers slim and gnarled, her back already developing a permanent hunch, and her face was a map of creases. Sonja Carlsbad wasn't more than six years older than him, but her past had aged her at least an extra decade. Hell, his mother looked better, and she was twenty years older than this woman.

"Sonja Carlsbad?" Reid asked, showing his ID. Morgan followed suit.

She stopped marking packages, and looked at them, one hand on her twisted back. She snorted at their IDs, and turned back to the machine passing boxes to her and her colleague. "I did my time."

"We need to talk to you about your former foster children." He tried to keep his voice objective, but failed.

"You hate me, but you have no idea what it's like trying to deal with those kids." She glared at him.

"Why don't you tell us then?" Reid adopted his kind, perfect son expression.

"I got work. Sorry."

"Your boss okayed you taking a break," Morgan said.

She looked disgusted, but spoke quietly to her coworker, and walked with them out of the warehouse. They stood outside, in the shadow of the building, and Morgan resisted the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

"So, what the hell do you two want?"

"Tate and Trevor, do you remember them?"

"Sure, little Tate got me arrested. And Trevor was a fucking piece of work, I'll tell you."

"How so, ma'am?" Reid asked politely.

"I had a girl then too, Andrea, she was a sweetheart, but a little dumb. She was a few years younger than Trevor, and he was always looking at her. I knew what he had on his mind, and she was dumb and naive enough that she'd do it. I had to keep him away from her. She was too young to be doing that." Carlsbad, pulled a small bottle of water from her smock, and a bottle of tylenol, and swallowed two.

"What about Tate, he had the same marks as Trevor, but he was very young."

She glanced at them. "I caught him playing with himself one day while he was in the tub, I knew it was only a matter of time. Teach them while they're young."

Morgan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Was either boy ever openly defiant with you?"

"Tate, never. He was a good boy. Trevor, every chance he got. He was a hateful child since the day I met him. Always yelling and threatening, even hit me once. I just got good at tying his ungrateful little ass down," she said.

"But, you said Tate got you arrested?" Reid asked, thoughtful frown on his face.

"Yes, but not because of anything he did. It was my fault, I wasn't careful enough. His burns got infected one day, could barely walk by mid-day, so the school nurse examined him, called DFS immediately. I should have cleaned the burns better."

"Thank you for your time," Morgan said, having had enough, and hearing all they needed to. Reid followed him as he marched to the SUV. That woman was a waste of oxygen. "We can cross Trevor off the list, but we should have Garcia run more background on Tate."

The genius nodded, and hopped in the car. He kept his eyes on Morgan as he put the car in drive, and backed out of the parking space. When they turned onto the highway Morgan had, had enough of Reid's staring. He glanced over. "What?"

"You're very tense, today."

"It takes an IQ of 174 to deduce that?"

Reid frowned. "Well no, but I figured you'd offer an excuse."

"An excuse? Why do I need an excuse?" He demanded.

"Because I can already tell your in denial about the real reason."

Morgan glanced at him, then back at the road, then back at Reid. "What the hell are you talking about, kid?"

"It's alright, Morgan. Denial is a very powerful defense mechanism. It's one of seven from the Freudian school actually, still used today by many psychoanalysts. In fact, I'd argue that it's one of the most common, certainly more so than say, reaction formation or sublimation. Though repression is another big one, especially when considering the modern Puritanical moral codes of today-"

"Reid," he cut him off. "I'm tense because I'm tired, and because that woman is an evil bitch, who deserved a life sentence for what she did to those kids."

The younger man sort of nodded. "Yeah, that might be part of it, but it's not the real reason."

He let out a disbelieving laugh. "Really, you want to tell me what that is?"

"You're worried about Emily."

"Yeah, like your not," he snorted.

"Sure, I am, but not in the same way as you," Reid said. He was perfectly calm and comfortable discussing this, and Morgan just wanted to bolt.

"What does that mean? What way?"

Reid kind of shrugged. "Well, she's with Rossi, that's enough for me. I know Emily wants us all to believe she's fine, and treat her as we always have, but that's unrealistic. It will be a while before she's really okay, but as long as she's with a team member, I have a certain peace of mind."

"And, how's that different from me?" Morgan asked, brows knit in doubt.

"You want to be the one beside her, making sure she's okay."

Morgan gaze shot toward the young man, to find Reid staring back at him, with a challenge on his face, a challenge to deny that. He didn't have time to consider it, his phone was ringing. He was hoping to see Emily's name on the screen, but he didn't. "What's up Hotch?"

"There's been an attack. The victim was beaten badly, I'll meet you at the crime scene, I already sent Rossi, JJ and Prentiss to the hospital."

"What? It's daytime, this guy only attacks at night."

Hotch's voice sounded tight, strained even. "This victim was also married, and had her eight year-old daughter home with her."

"We're on our way."

* * *

><p><em>This chapter was a bit shorter than the others, but I kind of screwed up plotting the chapters. Hoping to get another part of the Grief series up this weekend during a packing break. My goal is to have those stories done before I move. I am not terribly optimistic. <em>

_Thank you for reading, and please review!_


	8. Chapter 8

JJ met Emily and Rossi in the parking lot, and they walked in to the ER together, each immediately displaying their IDs to the disenchanted security guard. His eyebrows perked up, but he waved them in without a word. Detective Hardwick was already there, wearing all the stress of a small town cop not used to women being attacked every few days.

"The doctor is on his way," he said with a nod of greeting.

The doctor chose that moment to arrive, and she looked like she was on the tail end of a 36-hour shift. "Jim, nice to see you," she said offering him a hand.

"Didn't know you were on tonight, Ginny. These are agents Jareau, Rossi and Prentiss," he introduced.

She lingered on Emily, but didn't say a word about her. "Jessica Kline, 31, beaten and vaginally raped. Two bruised ribs, fractured wrist, black eye, numerous contusions and abrasions, and ligature bruising around her neck. They found her panties still wrapped around her neck, he strangled her into unconsciousness with them. Her daughter called 911."

"What about the girl, was she injured?" Rossi asked.

"Abby was physically unharmed, but there's a good chance she saw the whole thing. She was home from school with a tummy ache." She shook her head.

"Can we talk to them?" JJ asked.

The doctor studied them unhappily. "Try to keep it quick, and go easy on Jessica. She's in 13a, right outside the ER. The girl is in Pediatrics, you'll have to ask her doctor."

"I'll talk to the kid," Emily said quickly. It wasn't hard to guess why, and neither of them argued.

"Pediatrics is on the second floor, A and B wings," she said.

"Thank you," Emily said, and nodded to them before disappearing down the hallway. They turned the opposite way, and followed the doctor to a hallway of rooms outside the ER. She stopped outside one, gave them a warning glance, and headed inside.

"Jessica, this is Detective Hardwick, and Agents Rossi and Jareau. They're hear to speak to you about the man who hurt you, are you feeling up to that?" It hardly mattered if she was, or wasn't, they needed her to tell them whatever she could about the unsub.

She was petite, slim with shoulder length dark hair in stylish cut, and acrylic nails, at least three of which were missing. Her lip was cut, her left-eye swollen not quite shut, but she tried to project strength. Unfortunately, she only succeeded in projecting tense fear. She finally nodded, biting her lip and then wincing as her teeth scraped the cut.

JJ stepped close, allowing the two men to hang back, and avoid scaring her further. "Did you see your attacker, Jessica?"

She shook her head quickly, not speaking a word.

"Did he say anything to you?" She gently pressed.

Again, she shook her head and didn't speak.

JJ nodded. "Okay, can you tell me what happened, starting just before he attacked you?"

Jessica was still for several seconds, until she released a sob and shook her head. "No, I don't want to talk about it, I just want to pretend it never happened!"

"I know this is scary, but we need you to be strong, so we can stop this from happening to another woman."

She still didn't speak, so Rossi stepped forward then. "Mrs. Kline, did he perform oral sex on you?"

"What? No, of course not!" She looked horrified, genuine surprise on her face.

JJ exchanged looks with Rossi. This wasn't looking like the same guy. "Do you have pets Mrs. Kline?" He continued.

"We have a dog, Otis. He was in the yard when I was attacked, I could hear him barking when they put me in the ambulance...someone needs to feed him. Where's my daughter? Where's Abby?" Her voice had gone hollow, almost dreamy, and her eyes were unfocused.

"She wasn't hurt, ma'am, but they have her in pediatrics." Detective Hardwick said.

JJ went to rest an arm on her shoulder, and Jessica jumped when her hands got within inches, looking at JJ with wide, frightened eyes. She glanced at Rossi, and back at the scared woman. "Jessica, why haven't you asked if someone called your husband?"

She paled visibly, and JJ could see the fear swirl in her deep brown eyes.

* * *

><p>"So, it looks like she let him in. There's no wear on the lock in the back door or even the front," Morgan said, meeting Reid and Hotch in the living room. "That doesn't fit with our guy."<p>

"Neither does the daytime attack or the absence of sedation drugs," Hotch agreed.

Reid studied the broken porcelain by the coffee table. "There's a lot that's not fitting. Jessica Kline was married, and had a child, the family pet wasn't harmed, the attacked happened in the living room, not the bedroom, and she was beaten. Some of that could be explained by a killer rapidly devolving, but not all of it."

"So, you're all saying this isn't the same guy?" The Lieutenant said, looking disappointed and even annoyed.

Morgan glanced at him. "Look at all of this," he gestured to the disarray of the room: broken glass, couch pillows tossed around, furniture disturbed.

"Yeah, this guy is pissed, you said he'd start showing that on the women soon."

"He will, but not at the expense of abandoning his entire MO. The guy that did this is furious, and completely out of control. The unsub in the other rapes has a considerable amount of control, and he'll begin to lose some of it soon, but not to this extent. And, this attack shows no indication of preparation or premeditation. And, it's someone Jessica Kline knows and would let into her home."

Proctor shook his head and sighed. "So you're telling me I should interview everyone this woman knows?"

"Give us more time, we'll see if we can't narrow that down for you," Hotch said, studying the barbie doll abandoned on the floor. Her blonde hair was a disaster of tangles, she was wearing only a top, and one of her feet had been chewed. Clearly, one of the little girl's favorite toys.

"Be my guest," he said. "We think the little girl ran to her mother after it was over and dropped that on the way."

"You have an idea of where she was standing?"

He nodded toward the hallway, his jaw tensing. "Urine stain places the kid over there. She was so terrified she wet herself."

Hotch walked over to the stop, and surveyed the room while Reid disappeared into another room. Morgan watched Hotch studying the destruction from where he stood. "She saw everything, didn't she?"

The unit chief nodded. "Yes, she did."

"Guys." Reid suddenly appeared, and waved them to follow him. "I think we might be able to narrow this down to one person."

They followed him to a study that was small, but expensively furnished. Large teak desk, thick leather chair, small sofa, volumes of classic literature filing the bookshelves that lined the walls and matched the desk, a set of golf clubs leaning against one wall. It was also highly organized, not a thing out of place or disturbed during the attack. The books were even equal heights.

"Anal much?" Morgan asked.

Proctor and his detective looked at them, and then each other. "I see an study filled with over-priced goods, clearly a status symbol. What exactly are you guys seeing?"

"We see that," Hotch said. "We also see a man who likes control."

"And, that means he raped and beat his wife?"

"That means it probably wasn't the first time he hit her."

"Look at this," Reid motioned Morgan to the desk, gestured to a planner. The notes for the previous week featured their victim's first name, with a dash and a dollar amount. Underneath were entries like in a check book. Groceries - $75, Abby's dance costume - $120, and so on. "He kept track of every dollar she spent."

"And, he even kept the receipts." Morgan drew his thumb over the small stack paper-clipped to the page of the planner.

"You should talk to the husband, Lieutenant," Hotch said.

"Because he's OCD?"

"Actually, that isn't accurate," Reid said. "What most people think of as OCD, is actually OCPD, Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder, it's doesn't present with compulsions or obsessions like OCD, and is much harder to cure, as are most personality disorders. People with OCPD are usually hyper-organized perfectionists, they'll actually miss deadlines because they're so determined to get something perfectly correct. It can be pretty damaging to a person's professional life for that reason, and-"

"Reid," Morgan cut him off. "It's not because he's OCD, _OCPD_," he amended at Reid's open mouth. "It's because he's clearly extremely controlling, and a man this controlling, is likely to abuse his wife when he perceives that she messed something up."

"Wait, you think this attack was punishment for something she did?" Proctor asked.

Morgan shrugged. "You'll have to ask him."

A crime scene tech appeared then, showing Proctor a plastic evidence bag with a few objects in it. "We found it tossed under the sofa."

The three FBI agents gathered around to examine a round, plastic case. It had been snapped in half, and the tray of birth control pills ripped out and crumbled. They exchanged looks, and Hotch addressed Proctor. "There's your motive."

* * *

><p>Emily resisted the urge to wince when the little girl made the Ken doll clobber the Barbie doll, not unlike a little boy would do with action figures. It had taken twenty minutes just to get the girl to speak, and now she was only answering yes or no to questions. Abby Kline was very intently focused on the dolls, and Emily was far too familiar with the behavior to be optimistic about what the girl was acting out.<p>

The doctors had examined Abby, changed her urine and blood soaked clothes, and put her in the room to await a social worker or a hospital shrink. Whoever made it first would be responsible for assessing the girl's mental state. Emily had beat them both.

"Abby, can you tell me why Ken is so mean to Barbie?" She sat beside the girl, in the psychiatric department's playroom in the in Pediatrics. It was set up like any other playroom on the planet, but she had to wonder how many children reacted their traumas with the toys in the room.

Abby only continued to play, her long dark hair falling over her shoulder, light brown eyes focused on the warring dolls.

"Did Barbie hurt Ken first?"

The girl froze and turned toward her. "Barbie wouldn't do that." She glanced at the dolls, then back at Emily. "Ken would kill her."

Momentarily taken aback, it took Emily a minute to gather her wits enough to respond. "But, doesn't Ken love Barbie?"

Abby shook her head. "Barbie is stupid. Ken doesn't love anyone that stupid."

"Is that why Ken hurts Barbie, because he thinks she's stupid?"

The little girl met her eyes, and nodded. "Barbie can't do anything right."

Her heart went out to the child, who probably listened to her father slander her mother on a regular basis. She smiled gently. "I bet that's not true, I bet she does lots of things well. I bet she makes really good pancakes."

Abby cracked a smile then and nodded. "With raspberries and chocolate chips."

She was about to speak, when she heard a knock, and saw Rossi poke his head inside and motion her toward him. "I'll be back in a minute okay, Abby?"

She walked to the door, and found both her colleagues and the Detective waiting for her. "The victim's husband is abusive, he was probably the one who attacked her."

JJ nodded. "We figured as much, she's scared just at the mention of him."

"I would be too. Has he been arrested yet?"

Rossi shook his head. "Can't, she won't say it's him. JJ was working her for a while, but she's just crying and refusing to say who hurt her."

"She's terrified," JJ justified.

"We did call him to let him know what happened though, said he was on the way to the hospital," Detective Hardwick said.

"Uh, excuse me, are you doctors?" They turned to the source of the voice. A man in his mid-thirties with a gelled hair, an expensive suit, and even more expensive shoes.

"Mr. Kline?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah, they said my daughter is somewhere around here?" He extended a hand.

"David Rossi, FBI, these are my colleagues Agents Jareau and Prentiss, and Detective Hardwick is with Ryeburg Police." All four of them pulled our their badges, and quickly showed him.

"Why does my wife's attack require three FBI agents?" He actually sounded annoyed.

"Six actually, a few of our colleagues are at your home. We're investigating your wife's attack as part of a string of attacks in the area."

"You think the man who attacked Jessica is the same one who's been attacking women around here?"

"We considered that it could be linked, but we've determined it's an unrelated crime," Rossi explained, pleasant conversational tone to his voice.

"Okay, well I can't tell you anything, I'd just like to see my daughter. They told me I could take her home."

"They what?" Emily gaped.

Kline turned to her, appraised her with a distinct air of superiority. "Abby wasn't harmed, so I'm taking her home."

"Did you see your wife yet, Mr. Kline?" Her tone had gone immediately icy, and she could feel JJ tense beside her, though Rossi seemed less bothered.

"They said she was sleeping, I thought it best not to disturb her."

"Your wife was brutally raped and beaten, and you don't want to disturb her?" She asked. "Afraid of your stomach turning over at the sight of your own handy work?"

His eyes blazed. "Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you are? I've never hit my wife!"

She snorted. "And, I bet you never called her stupid or useless right? Abby must have learned that from TV."

He tensed up, and lifted his hand, curling it into a fist, but didn't touch her. "I'm going to get my daughter and take her home. Where is she?"

Emily turned to Rossi, who shrugged and shook his head. They couldn't stop the bastard from taking his child home. She crossed her arms, and let Rossi gesture him toward the door. Once he was inside, she turned to JJ. "Where's Jessica Kline?"

"Downstairs, just outside the ER..." She trailed off, pointing, watching Emily take off in that direction.

Prentiss practically jogged to Jessica's room, running into the same doctor on the way there, and getting more explicit instructions. She found Jessica Kline laying in bed, wearing an expression she was far too familiar with.

The woman turned at the sound of her entering, squinted with her functioning eye, and frowned. "I know you from somewhere."

She pulled her ID. "Emily Prentiss, I believe you spoke to my colleagues earlier?"

Jessica nodded. "Yes...you've been on the news, that senator..."

"Yes, but that's not important right now. Your husband is in the hospital right now, and he's going to walk out with your daughter in five minutes, unless you tell me who did this to you."

She turned away. "He's her father."

"Yes, and while you're in here, who do you think he's going to take his anger out on?" Come on, she thought, just say he did it.

"He wouldn't do that, he's never hurt her."

"Not yet, but he will. She'll disappoint him, or you won't be around, and he will raise his hands to her just like he does to you." Jessica shook her head. "He raped and beat you while Abby watched, she was so terrified she peed all over herself! You don't think that emotional abuse will translate into physical abuse?"

"Emily." She turned to both Rossi and Hotch, who must have recently arrived in the doorway. Rossi nodded her toward him. "She's been through enough."

She turned away from them. "You just have to tell me what he did to you, Jessica, and we'll arrest him, and he won't hurt you again."

The young woman's face crumbled and she began to cry. "I can't, I can't, he'll kill me!"

"He'll kill you eventually if you don't! And, then Abby will be alone with him. You're beautiful little girl will be the one on the other side of his hand, the one in this bed, with a plaster cast and one eye swollen shut. Do you want that for her?"

"Stop, please stop, I can't, I can't go against him, I'm not strong enough," she cried and pled.

Emily stepped closer to her, ignoring the looks Hotch was shooting her. She rested against the edge of the bed, and took Jessica's hand in both of hers. "No one is. Not really, not until your forced to be, and then it's only because you don't have a choice. And, you know what Jessica? You don't have a choice now. Your daughter, the child you gave birth to, and nurtured and raised, she needs you to stop being scared, to be stronger than you ever thought you could be. It doesn't matter how much it hurts, or how scared you are, all that matters is how much she hurts, how scared she is. Do you understand that?"

She nodded then, crying so hard she was taking deep gasps just to breathe. "He did it. James did this to me. He wanted a son, and I couldn't bring another child into that house. He found out I was on birth control, and her was so angry." She broke off, sobbing and grabbing Emily, collapsing against her in a mess of tears and hysterics.

Emily looked over at Rossi and Hotch, they nodded and disappeared. She finally released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, put one arm around Jessica, and stroked her head gently with the other.

* * *

><p><em>So, with the sudden decrease in reviews, I'm thinking I've bored some of you guys. I was kind of afraid a lot of people would be expecting another high-action, Emily constantly in peril story, and I could have done that, but it wouldn't have been realistic. Besides, I'm looking to have her deal with the trauma, not be completely traumatized again. So, the next chapter will be a bit slow, but will also be all team interactions, and exploring that TV special a bit, so that's something to look forward to. After that things with the case will pick up.<em>

_Thank you to everyone reading, and thank you to everyone who's been reviewing. I appreciate each and every word.  
><em>


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N at the end. _

Reid was still in his clothes. Hotch had sent them back after they finished up with Jessica Kline even though it hadn't been that late. Last night they hadn't gotten much rest, so he told them to get what they could tonight, knowing that when the case heated up it could be days before they saw their hotel beds again.

Except Reid wasn't that tired. He was thinking about Jessica Kline, about her little girl who wet herself in terror, about the inevitable next victim of their unsub, and about his friend who was still so broken from her own torment. He was thinking even of what he'd said to Morgan earlier, wondering what exactly it all meant.

The knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts, and Reid frowned as he went to open it. Part of him was dreading news of another victim, part of him was dreading even more news of another attack on Emily-press or lovelorn psycho. Either one, he didn't want to hear about.

He found JJ at the door, which could mean almost anything. "JJ?"

She look tired, and a little awkward. "You feel like some company?"

Reid smiled, and opened the door wider. "Of course."

JJ smiled, blue eyes looking just the tiniest bit brighter for a minute, and headed into the room, falling heavily on the edge of his bed. "I've be trying to get that damn circus moved, and the best our PR department can give me is that the Bureau has nothing to hide."

"Have you told them it's interfering with our work?"

She nodded. "In about five different ways. They're afraid, they don't want to get too aggressive with press control and look like we're hiding something. Even if it makes our lives miserable and Emily's life utter hell."

Her phone started to ring then, and Reid saw her jaw tense. He had never seen JJ look so beat down, so frustrated even during their worst cases. Though, Morgan had told him that she hadn't been doing too well when he'd been missing, the guilt had eaten her up.

JJ smiled then, and answered. "Hey Garcia."

Reid smiled too. Garcia could be like a tonic for the team on some days, her bubbly personality bringing a little light into their often too dark world. JJ looked around for the remote, and flicked the TV on, clicking to whatever channel Garcia told her.

_"This was the quiet little suburb outside of Albany where Christopher and Sara Bennett decided to start their family. They moved into their dream home, this two story unit behind me, because Sara loved the space in the backyard. She wanted to trim the house with rose bushes, with blooms of all colors, and watch her children run around on the grass in the summer. Five years ago, they brought their hopes, their dreams, and tiny two-month old Kyle to this house in this neighborhood. We've been told the nursery was blue and decorated with teddy bears then, a contrast from the pink and unicorns in that room today."_ It cut then to the interior of the house, to specifically the nursery, and continued with the dramatic narrative. Reid turned to JJ.

"We're watching, Pen." She clicked the phone and put it on speaker.

"Do you hear that cheesy narrator, Jayje? I just want to punch them."

"Well, as long as they stop implying Emily was a problem child with drinking, drugging and whoring problems, I don't care that much. Did you watch that last night, because the press made some interesting implications today."

Reid frowned as he listened to the women go back and forth, the second night of the TV special playing in his other ear.

"It wasn't as bad as that," Garcia said. "They did have some former friends of hers from high school and college saying Em liked to party and party hard. These people said the parties had ample booze and pills, oh and weed, but none of them could remember or confirm what of that Emily had ingested. These people also described an aggressive young woman that knew how to get the attention of young men, and enjoyed having it. They did not say, however, that she dropped her pants for all of them. Oh, and apparently, at one of these parties when she was still in high school, Emily let an older guy with tattoo equipment ink her. Of course, none of these oh so stellar witnesses could remember what she had inked on her. Though one such gentleman, who clearly still enjoys pills and booze seemed to recall it was something vulgar, which honestly, wouldn't surprise me all that much. Em was not a happy young woman."

"What did they say about Bennett?" Reid asked.

"Oh, well he came off better in the beginning, you know nice young man from a good family, made good grades, helped old ladies across the street, didn't embarrass his wealthy, political parents, that sort of thing. But by the end, neither of them were all that likable."

"Garca!" JJ admonished.

"What? If it wasn't Emily, I'd say that she was some spoiled and unsupervised little rich girl who left her fiancé three weeks before the wedding. Since it was Emily, and said fiancé is a crazy, evil, son of a bitch, I know that's not true."

"So Chris came off better?" Reid pulled them back toward his question.

"Yeah. He was a good kid, met Emily in college, she was a bit wild and he was a bit sheltered, so the boy was totally twitterpated, and frankly had his hands full. Emily began to mellow as they went through college, Chris seemed to gain some confidence to get out from under his parents, they graduated, moved in together, got engaged, seemed as happy as two peas in a pod and then everything went to hell. Emily left, Chris went into a tailspin, and he looks like a needy nutjob, while she looks like the man-eating siren that broke his heart. They ended that segment with Emily's acceptance to the Academy at Quantico and Chris coming out of his tailspin and meeting Sarah. So, not quite everything up to the murders."

"She's received a lot of commendations in her career, did they touch on any of that?" Reid wondered. Anything that would make Emily look more like the person they knew she was now, than the wild kid she had been.

"No, not last night, but like I said, they only got up to her just getting into the academy."

"Garcia?" He asked as the three of them grew quiet.

"Yes, my darling boy?"

"What's twitterpated?"

* * *

><p>"Are you watching this shit?"<p>

Hotch frowned at the phone, unaccustomed to Rossi being so abrupt in a greeting. "Coverage of the case or the TrueTV special?"

"The special. They're making her sound pathetic, she'll hate that."

Hotch dropped the pen he'd been scribbling notes with and focused on the TV that had been droning in the background. Yes, he'd been watching, and no, he wasn't proud of it, but he wanted to know what they were saying about her.

"Obviously. Judging by these idiots, her career means nothing; they think she's Miss Lonely-Hearts."

"Tell me they aren't suggesting Chris did her a favor by abducting her?"

"No, of course not, that would be seriously fucked up. Even for this network. No, but they went through Bennett's adult years, and his success, both in his career and with building his family, and then they get to Emily. She's got a career in the Bureau, all these commendations, then she makes it to the BAU, arguably the most elite unit in the whole damn organization, and they have to temper these statements about her success with reminders that she's single."

"Does that really surprise you? Men are judged on the success of their careers, women are judged on their ability to get married and have children." In that particular respect Prentiss was definitely not successful. But then, none of them were particularly successful in that area.

"No, it doesn't surprise me, it mostly just pisses me off."

Hotch sighed. "When did you become a feminist, Dave?"

"I never said I was, but they're painting it as her losing her one chance at love when she told that nutjob to take a hike after college."

Dave was very fond of Prentiss, and next to Hotch himself, he was probably closest to her. He knew that his friend's anger likely came from frustration with the media spectacle, and also an almost paternal pride in her accomplishments that were so being over-looked. "It's sensationalistic TV garbage, it isn't worth getting upset over," he said.

"Look at the actors they have portraying us in the re-enactments and tell me that. JJ looks like a tart, Reid is stumbling over his own feet, and I look like a damn college professor. They've turned us into _Scooby-Doo and the Ghastly Ghoul of Albany_."

Hotch chuckled silently at that, and settled himself more comfortably on the bed for another half-hour of listening to Dave vent. It was probably better to get it out, the press had them all pissed off. Even JJ, who dealt with them on a regular basis. Thinking of her, he glanced at the TV screen and winced.

Re-enactor JJ did in fact look like a tart. Pouty lips, vacant look, and d-cups pushing out of her top.

Wonderful.

* * *

><p>"I can't decide if this is painful or hysterical." Emily grimaced at the TV as their counterparts hamfisted their way through the murder investigation.<p>

She was sitting on Morgan's bed, pressed close to him, their hands twinned together. That had been unconscious mostly, she'd reached out nervously as the program began, and Morgan's hand was just suddenly there. She wasn't about to let it go though, she derived comfort just from that contact.

"Painful is my vote. Rossi looks like Gandolf."

She chuckled. "And you look like a bouncer. Check out those shades."

Morgan looked at her. "The shades are what stick out at you, have you seen JJ? TrueTV will never get a scoop out of her, I can guarantee that."

"That's probably true, they were a little uh, indelicate with her."

"You and Hotch look pretty normal."

"Hotch looks like a Fed. I, well I'll put it this way, one more close-up with her looking all vulnerable and sad and I will have to throw something at the TV."

Morgan laughed. "Hey now, the Bureau will have to pay for any destruction of hotel room property, and they're already footing the bill for that door."

She grew suddenly serious then. "When did life get so fucked-up?"

His thumb rubbed along her knuckles, and he held her hand tighter. She turned and gave him a grateful smile. "I'm sorry they've turned you into the headlining act of their three-ring circus."

"I'll live."

"Do you want to talk about your nightmares from last night?" It was an odd segue, but this might be the only chance he got to really talk to her until they finished the case.

"Same old, same old-well, that's not quite true. I did have one with Chris breaking into my hotel room, that's new." She snorted. "At least there's variety now."

Morgan sighed, and fixed his gaze on their joined hands. "I haven't been swimming in a lake since I was sixteen. That's where most of it happened, underwater, where no one could see, and no one would know. I dreamt a dozen different versions of it over the years, and 90 percent of them are in a lake."

Emily looked at him, and her voice was barely audible when she asked, "do you still have those dreams?"

"Sometimes, not too often anymore though."

"Are they still as vivid?"

It was supposed to be a short, breathy laugh, it came out as more of a gasping sob. "Yeah, sometimes...Sometimes I just see where I am and I know what's going on...other times, I can still feel his hands on me, or his breath when he got really close. Sometimes, I can even feel my own pulse hammering away."

"But, they get fewer?" Emily asked.

"Yeah, they used to be almost every night, but now, it's one a month at most, unless something brings it to the surface."

"Like in Chicago a few years ago."

He nodded. "Yeah, they got bad for a while after that." Then he smiled. "I had practically just met you then."

"Yeah, when Hotch sent me to talk to you family, I thought he was nuts. The woman who'd been on the team for all of three weeks did not strike me as the most reassuring face to offer."

"Aw, you did fine. I didn't hear any complaints anyway."

"Good to know."

Morgan's face broke out into that thousand-watt grin. "That was before you told me you were a nerd."

She smiled. "Yes, well I am not the only closet Vonnegut fan on the team."

"Nope."

They sat there for a minute, just staring at each other with goofy grins, until the TV caught Morgan's eye and he pointed. "Hey look, real JJ."

She turned to see the first press conference about Chris's disappearance and his abduction of his two children and an FBI agent.

"I kind of miss those D's popping out of her blouse."

Emily glanced over and elbowed him. Morgan chuckled. "Just kidding, I definitely prefer JJ just as she is."

The special ended with a clip of Emily's puppy-dog-eyed counterpart handcuffed in SUV, and staring off mournfully into the distance while some Hitchcockian instrumental piece played threateningly in the background.

Emily shook her head. "I guess we should get some sleep. God knows what's going to happen tomorrow."

She was hesitant though, she was very comfortable sitting there next to him, and didn't really want to let go of his hand. She didn't want to go back across the hall to her own empty room.

"Yeah, I guess we should...do you want to uh, stay again?"

Emily ran her tongue over her lip. She should be an adult and go back to her room and face her fears, but she wasn't feeling too secure at that thought. Finally she looked at him. "Would you mind company?"

He squeezed her hand. "Not at all."

* * *

><p><em>Thank you all very much for the outpouring of support and reassurance, that meant a lot to me. It's a relief to know you're not getting bored. I didn't plan on holding the story hostage for reviews though (Not my style. I'm insecure, but I'm not quite that insecure.), I just wanted to reassure all of you that the action would pick up soon. That should actually be starting in next chapter, the case will start to heat up. So, thank you all again for all the reviews and support, it meant a lot, and kicked my butt into working to get this done and posted.<em>

_On that note, I'm moving this weekend. It's a big move, to a place where I essentially know no one, and I'm starting grad school in like a week and a half. And, I don't know when I'm getting internet hooked-up. You see where I'm going? Posting may be perfectly fine, or it may be completely erratic. Though, I do hope to get the last part of the Grief series posted before the move.  
><em>

_Addendum: And thank god I'm moving; creepy married neighbor wants to take me to dinner and chat me up. Yikes._


	10. Chapter 10

_Okay, so I finally got internet after two weeks without (Verizon sucks), and my introduction to Virginia included an earthquake and a hurricane in only a week of living there. Yeah, it's been interesting. Also determined that we won't have TV of any kind, so if anyone knows of a good virus-free site to watch CM on, please let me know! _

_So, onto the story. Thanks for everyone for hanging in here during my little break! Please review!_

* * *

><p>Morgan didn't know what had woken him up, but he still found himself staring up at the ceiling through the darkness. Emily was beside him, body pressed close to his, head resting on his shoulder, and her hand on his chest, almost directly over his heart. She must have had a nightmare at some point. With the exception of last night, she only ever curled up with him after a nightmare. The rest of the time she was content just for them to be near each other.<p>

He enjoyed this-holding her while she slept. His arm was loosely around her, his fingers absently stroking her silky hair, and he found he didn't really mind being awake. He found himself thinking about what Reid had said earlier, and he knew the kid wasn't wrong. It wasn't a comfortable thought though. Not for a man that had spent the last twenty years avoiding romantic entanglements like they were certain death. Though romantic wasn't quite the way he'd classify this.

If he were completely honest, which frankly, he was loath to be, he'd admit this was not platonic. It hadn't been entirely platonic since before Bennett abducted her. Now, it was much less so. But, romantic it was not. When you'd seen as much of the world as they had, romance was nothing but a fantasy played out in overly-optimistic films. What they had was different. It was closeness, it was genuine affection for each other, and it was a trust neither of them had granted anyone in a long time. And, that was a lot.

Morgan turned and studied her face, she looked relaxed, open even as she slept, and that was a gift. Neither of them allowed others to see their vulnerability often. He leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to her head, allowing himself to linger and inhale the scent of her hair. He almost jumped at the sound of knocking.

"Morgan...Morgan." JJ knocked again. Her voice was soft, but loud enough for him to hear. He gently shifted out from underneath Emily, relieved when she only briefly stirred before falling back asleep. JJ knocked again. "Morgan-"

"What's going on? It's not even four." He pulled open the door and frowned at the almost frantic look on her face. She was trying to stay calm, but seemed to be losing the battle.

"I'm waking everyone up, there's been another attack, the woman was beaten badly, she's in the hospital."

"Are we sure this is out guy?"

She nodded. "Killed the dog." He ran a hand over his head. "But, more importantly right now, I can't find Emily. She didn't answer her door, and I can hear her phone ringing in her room, but she hasn't answered that either, and after last night..."

"She's fine, JJ," he assured.

"Morgan, she isn't in her room, and she left her cell. The last time she didn't answer her cell Bennett had her." JJ's voice cracked and it was clear she was both very upset and scared.

"She's safe, I swear," he promised, and opened the door wider, stepping to the side so she could see in. Emily's head and shoulders were just barely visible beyond the blankets.

He watched the blonde's mouth open, and then close abruptly. She turned to him with look that was warring between amused and disapproving. "How long has this been going on?"

"It's not what you think. She has nightmares, and hotel rooms...you know, and then last night..." Morgan sighed. "She needs to feel safe if she's going to get any sleep."

JJ's gaze softened. "You better wake her up and get her across the hall before Hotch sees. He won't be happy no matter what your reasons."

"Thanks," he said, already feeling the relief flow through his body.

She turned, but froze, and looked back at him. "Morgan...she's okay, right?"

"She's getting there," he said. Then she left and he closed the door and returned to the bed. He took Emily's hand in his, brushing away the hair that had fallen in her face. "Time to wake up, Princess. Unsub attacked another woman."

She stirred at his touch, and blinked awake at his voice. "What's going on?"

"New victim, she's at the hospital."

She sighed. "What time is it?"

"Not quite four. And, you gave JJ a scare, you left your phone in your room, she thought you went missing. She's knows you're in here." He watched her face carefully, surprised that she seemed only tired, not upset or even annoyed.

"I better get back to my room," she said.

* * *

><p>"Hi there, Agent Morgan, Dr. Reid," Morgan gestured to himself and Reid while displaying his credentials.<p>

"You're here for the rape victim?" The nurse looked to be in her early forties, with a short, boyish haircut, clear skin, and eyes that said she'd probably been working at that hospital for fifteen years or more. She was shuffling through folders, not really looking at them.

"Yes, ma'am," Reid said.

"Caroline George, 29, white. She's stable, but not good. The doctor is in there now doing the SASE."

"Can you tell us more about her condition?" Morgan asked.

She shoved a folder into a rack full of them, and then turned and gave them her full attention. "He beat her so severely that poor women will probably never wake-up, let alone speak or walk again."

Reid couldn't stop his mouth from falling open a little. They knew the killer was going to start in on the victims themselves, and that it would be bad, but he hadn't anticipated this level of violence so quickly.

"Alright, can you ask the doctor if he could speak with us after he finishes with her?" Morgan asked, hiding whatever he felt at the nurse's admission.

"Sure. Have a seat, I'll find you when he's done." She didn't physically shoo them away, but she may as well have.

They found a wall of seats and slid into them. Reid felt at once so very tired, and so very guilty that he'd gotten any sleep at all. If they hadn't stopped for sleep, then maybe…maybe this young woman wouldn't have been beaten to within an inch of her life. If they hadn't gotten caught up in that mess this afternoon, the false lead, maybe they would have found something to crack the case.

"He's going to kill the next one, Morgan," he said.

Morgan glanced at him, then back at the spot on the floor he'd been burning a hole into. "Yeah, I know."

"If we can't narrow our field of suspects, he'll attack again before we can stop him."

"No, he won't. We will stop him, just like we do all the others." The older man's tone said he wasn't convinced, or maybe he was just feeling as tired and guilty as Reid.

Reid cleared his throat. "Some we don't stop, not on the first shot. What if he's one of those?"

Morgan turned, and looked almost angry. "We caught Foyet, we caught Frank, and we caught Bennett. We'll get this bastard too, one way or another, kid. You can count on that."

Now, that was the tone of voice he was used to, the one that held conviction. He simply nodded, and sat quietly staring at his hands. Morgan returned to his very interesting spot on the floor. They didn't sit long though, maybe ten minutes, before the nurse showed up, and she didn't look happy.

"Caroline was just rushed back into surgery, she's got another bleed in her brain. You boys might be sitting her a while," she said.

Reid nodded and spoke for both of them. "Guess we better figure out where the coffee machine is."

The nurse expression softened slightly. "The one outside the ER churns out sludge, try the one outside of ICU." Then she disappeared back to work.

* * *

><p>"Well, she's definitely single," Prentiss commented, as they combed the room. Hotch turned to see her holding what looked like a fuchsia cylinder, flipping the switch on the side to no affect.<p>

"What's that?" He asked, almost without thinking.

Prentiss froze, and looked at him, face still in an expression that said she wasn't quite sure if he meant to ask that. "It's a vibrator, Hotch."

Only years of professionalism kept him from going pink. And then that pink cylinder began to look so obviously like a vibrator he wanted to slap himself. "Right," he said.

"And, the batteries are dead, so she's been using it frequently."

"She could have just forgotten to change them."

Prentiss shook her head. "It was on top of everything in the drawer, where it's easy to reach."

He nodded. "Fits with the unsub's type…that's she single," he clarified.

She nodded, stowed the device back into a fabric case, and then proceeded to dive back into the drawer. Thankful that awkward conversation was over, he continued searching the vanity in the corner. He wasn't sure what they were hoping to find; some trace of the unsub to lead them right to him maybe, but that seemed a little too hopeful. They all felt like they screwed this one up, maybe he most of all. He was their leader, he decided when to call quitting time.

But, what was the alternative? They don't sleep at all? That would leave his team running on fumes, and agents running on fumes often made dangerous mistakes. No, he'd had no choice but send them for sleep. And, it wasn't like they'd gotten much either, thanks to the loon that broke into Prentiss's room and scared the hell out of her. He imaged after that, many people (women and men) would have flown back home and hunkered down for a few days. But, Emily Prentiss was far too stubborn for that.

Rossi had told him to stick to worrying about the case, and let the other man worry about Prentiss. This way they'd each only have one thing to worry about. Easier said than done. He said she'd been fine yesterday, tense, but she was still focused on the case. Just like she seemed to be now. He was glad for that, and that they'd missed the press this morning.

"Hotch, Emily, Rossi's got something." JJ suddenly appeared, beckoned them, and then vanished as quickly. Prentiss shut the nightstand drawer and followed JJ, Hotch not far behind her.

"I think our unsub's control is waning," Rossi greeted them. He was kneeling by the sofa, and looked as if he'd been looking under it.

"The blood all over her bed suggests as much," Prentiss said.

"Yes, but that we expected, but we didn't expect this," he said, cocky smirk on his face, as he lifted the skirt of the couch.

The two profilers and the liaison all got low to the ground, and peered under the sofa. They were met with two bright yellow-green eyes, and the vague outline of a cat. A small cat, it looked like, that had likely hidden in terror when the massacre started.

Hotch yanked his head back. "He didn't kill the cat."

Rossi nodded. "And, the dog wasn't butchered either, one cut through it's neck."

JJ and Prentiss looked at the two men. "What does that mean?" The Liaison asked.

"He's either making mistakes or he didn't care, either way he's devolving," Hotch explained.

"And, that's good for us?"

Rossi shrugged. "Mistakes are good, devolving means a lack of control, and that's good for us, but not his victims."

"I had a thought," Prentiss said, turning to Rossi. "You remember what we were discussing yesterday about victimology?" He nodded. "What if he isn't choosing these victims because they're weak enough surrogates for him to kill, what if he's not killing his abuser?"

Hotch frowned. "Who would he be killing then?"

"Himself."


	11. Chapter 11

_I'm sorry, to be honest, I meant to post this earlier, but I kind of forgot about this story for a bit. I already have papers due (well, one's a pointless little essay), and that kind of stole my focus. Anyway, here is the update, be aware there's more naughty language than usual in the second part. And, right now I'm rethinking my plan for the ending, so that may delay things in the future (not for the next few chapters I think, but a bit later on). _

_Thank you for reading, and thank you for everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it's much appreciated. _I will try to be better with posting this.__

_And an FYI, for anyone who reads it, I'm in the process of working on a new Addy story, so that series will be resurrected soon. _

_One other FYI, I will not be writing the case file/Emily's return fic that I promised months ago for obvious reasons (ie the fast approaching season premiere). Sorry about that. But, I think I've decided my next chaptered project is going to be a very dark AU story, provided grad school doesn't make my head explode before I get to it._

_Update: I am fucking space cadet today. I got this all ready in the Doc Manager, and then what did I do? I forgot to post it. FAIL.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Emily poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot in the police station, coffee that looked more like engine oil. JJ appeared, and she held it up in offering. The blonde nodded, so she grabbed another cup, and poured more, before setting it back on the burner. The station was pretty quiet considering, only a handful of cops inside, and a dozen or so members of the press core outside.<p>

JJ sniffed the coffee and wrinkled her nose. "Why is cop coffee always as appetizing as Listerine?"

She smiled. "If we enjoyed it, it might lull us into a sense of well-being, if you're gut is burning you're more focused on work."

The blonde smirked. "So...?"

Emily stared at her. "So, what?"

"Come on, talk to me, what's going on with you and Morgan?"

She sighed and shook her head. "It's not what you're thinking, Jayje."

JJ nodded. "So, he told me."

"What exactly did he tell you?"

"That it helps you sleep."

Emily bit her lip, and looked at her feet. In the quiet of the night, there was no shame in being afraid, and they didn't discuss it, at all really. Admitting it in the light of day to a third party that like a child she was scared of the night, it was very embarrassing. Finally, she sighed and looked up. "That's about it."

"Really? Because I don't think that's all it is for him."

She looked at JJ quickly, startled. "What? Did he say something else to you?"

JJ's eyebrows rose. "His lips don't have to be moving to tell me what's going on. And, neither do yours."

Emily snorted. "If you know so much why are you asking me?"

"To see if you know it yet."

She groaned. "JJ, you're talking in riddles. Spit it out, if you have something to say."

She sighed. "You and Morgan care far too much about each other to keep pretending you're just friends.

"Are you encouraging me to get involved with Morgan?"

"No. As your colleague I have to tell you that's a bad idea and you could both lose your jobs." JJ paused. "But as your friend, which I think is more important, you're already involved even if you refuse to see it, and maybe you should stop and think if maybe it would be worth the risks."

Emily stood rooted to the spot, staring at her friend, deepening frown on her face. "Do you realize you just blatantly contradicted yourself?"

"Yep." JJ nodded.

"Uh, Agent Prentiss?" An officer appeared beside him, looking awkwardly around the large vase of flowers he was carrying.

It was an expensive-looking arrangement of roses, calla lilies, and snapdragons, all brilliant red, with tiny sparkling rhinestones dotted throughout. The vase was red too, with a small white card sticking up in the center.

"Officer Tanner?" She asked, eyeing the bouquet with suspicion.

"These just came for you, ma'am; you seem to have a secret admirer." He held them out to her, but Emily didn't move to take them.

Instead JJ, after glancing at her friend several times, snatched the card. That seemed to knock Emily out of her stupor.

"Does it say who they're from?"

JJ frowned. "Not really, but it sounds like he expects you to know."

"Well, he expects wrong," she said. "What does it say?"

"You want me to read it aloud?" The liaison seemed surprised, like she wouldn't have.

Emily nodded. "Only one guy has the right to send me flowers like that, and he didn't send them."

It was definitely a bouquet that spoke of love and romance, and only Morgan was in a position to believe she might respond positively to that. And, she knew he didn't send them. First of all, they weren't at that place, and second, he wouldn't send her flowers where the whole team could see, not to mention their boss.

JJ shrugged. "My Love, I hope with these you'll forgive my absence in your time of need. XXX."

"Does that list the company name?"

She glanced at the top. "Floral Fantasies, number is here too."

Emily pulled out her phone, and quickly punched in the appropriate numbers. "Floral Fantasies, where your sweetheart's fantasies become a reality, how may I assist you?"

"Emily Prentiss, I'm with the FBI. You just had a bouquet delivered to me at the Ryeburg police station, I need the name on the order."

"Oh...uh, well okay, just give me a minute to look...was there a problem with the flowers, Agent?" She asked.

"Yeah, I didn't ask for them," Emily said.

"Oh well, then you must have a secret admirer, isn't that exciting?"

Her jaw tensed in annoyance. "Not really, my last secret admirer broke into my hotel room in the middle of the night, and I had to shoot him."

"Excuse me?"

"The name, please," Emily said.

"Uh, well the order addressed to a Miss Emily Prentiss doesn't have a name listed, but the credit card information lists...a Mr. George Liberman."

She sighed. "Please don't accept anymore orders from George Liberman to myself. In fact, don't accept any orders that are addressed to me."

"Uh, well I'm not sure we can-"

"Thank you," Emily cut her off and hung up.

"They're from Liberman?" JJ asked, cringing just asking it.

"Yep, Prince Charming himself."

"Um, Agent Prentiss, what do you want me to do with...?" The young officer held up the flowers.

"Do you have a wife or a girlfriend?" She asked, to which he nodded. "Good, give them to her."

He frowned. "Oh-okay, thanks I guess."

Emily nodded, and then headed back to the conference room, JJ right behind her. Morgan noticed the stressed look on her face almost immediately, and it seemed most of the guys noticed her change in demeanor as they were suddenly watching the two women enter.

"What's wrong?" Hotch asked. Emily handed him the love note, which he read, frowned deeply, and then looked at her in utter confusion. "What's this?"

"It was with an expensive bouquet of flowers, addressed to me, paid for with Liberman's credit card."

"I'll contact the prison and have them revoke his phone and internet privileges," Rossi said, already moving to do just that.

Hotch nodded at him, and then turned back to Prentiss. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She wasn't but that didn't really matter.

He stared, seemingly trying to read her face for several minutes, before inhaling, and turning back to the team as a whole. "I know we have a lot of distractions right now, but I need everyone's heads focused on this case right now. I just asked the Lieutenant to pick up all the remaining names on the list. We don't have the time to visit all of them. So, get ready to do interviews all day."

That thought just about deflated all of them.

* * *

><p>An hour later the police station was filled with a low roar, and brimming with complete chaos. There were thirty men, ages 20 to 43 that were being dragged away from whatever they were doing to come and answer questions. Currently, the team was in the conference room, insulated from the circus in the bullpen. Hotch looked stressed, everyone else just looked apprehensive. Morgan didn't know what to think.<p>

He sighed, and finally pushed the door open, internally cringing at the sudden cacophony of noise. Men objecting to being brought in for questioning, men from all different walks of life. Some hadn't gotten past their rotten upbringing, and wore the worn out look of drug and alcohol abusers. One kid had a large hoops in his ear lobes, so that they formed holes you could see through-like a piercing on steroids. Two men were in suits, a few were in uniforms, one was in a sweat-stained wife beater and hollering about the first amendment, which wasn't actually relevant at the moment.

Morgan put his thumb and pointer finger against his lips and blew a shrill, piercing whistle that brought the room to silence. He looked at the mess in the wife beater. "What's your name?"

"Harold Flotnick. What the hell am I doing here? I was minding my own damn business, you people have no right to-"

"Shut up," Morgan hissed at him. He looked at the officer with him, an older guy with a little pudge around his middle, and a look of utter distain on his face. "Toss him in Interrogation 2, I'll deal with him."

The cop nodded, and then escorted Flotnick out of the bullpen. Morgan shook his head, and turned to find the rest of the team behind him, surveying the crowd with very little enthusiasm. He shrugged. "I guess we're going one at a time."

Hotch nodded at him, so Morgan proceeded into the conference room, dug through the folders until he found the one for Flotnick, and then strode over to Interrogation. He noted the rest of his team picking people, and instructing officers as he had. This was not going to be a fun exercise.

When he sat across from Flotnick, he felt an immediate gut instinct-this was not the guy. He was too sloppy, too stupid, and too outspoken, but still, he was obligated to at least question the man. "So, Mr. Flotnick, do you remember DFS visiting your home when you were seven, and then nine, when they removed you?"

"What the fuck is this about?"

Morgan nearly winced, this close to him, the man's breath smelled worse than a decaying body. At least underneath the stench of old booze. He couldn't believe he had reasonably clean-looking teeth in a mouth that appallingly rank. "Just answer the question, please."

"I ain't saying shit without a lawyer." He crossed his arms over his chest, and scowled underneath his baseball cap.

"You aren't under arrest, Mr. Flotnick. I just want to ask you a few questions to confirm you aren't the guy I'm looking for."

"If you don't think I'm him, why'd you drag me in here?"

Morgan sighed. "Just answer my questions and you can go. Do you remember the DFS visits?"

"Yeah, yeah. Aunt Shirley didn't do anything wrong, nosey parkers should have stayed out of our business," Flotnick said.

"Really?" Morgan asked opening the folder. "Because it says here in your DFS file that she took money from grown men and let them come into the house and touch you."

"We needed money, and it's not like they were harming me. They just got their feel, jacked-off and left."

"That's all it ever was, none of them ever wanted a little more?"

Flotnick drew back. "I'm not a goddamn faggot!"

"Calm down," Morgan said. "You were close to your aunt then?"

He settled back. "Only person I had after my parents died. She took me in, even though she didn't have much to give."

"They removed you from her custody when you were nine though."

"And, I hated them for it. They placed me with a couple of religious freaks, and that son of a bitch liked to take a paddle to me. My aunt never hit me."

"So you have no hard feelings toward your aunt, even though, for three years, she made you strip down and sit still while grown men put their hands all over you?" He asked.

"No. Man, why are you so hung up on that? It wasn't a big deal."

"It's illegal, and traumatizing for the children abused."

Flotnick scoffed. "You want trauma? I'll show you trauma." He suddenly stood, simultaneously unzipping his pants, and pulling his penis out, directing a stream of urine across the table.

Morgan jumped away, but not before receiving an unwanted shower. He ducked away from the stream and yelled at the door. "I need handcuffs in here!"

Instead of the locals he was hoping for, JJ opened the door, starting first at the smell, then at the scene.

"Hey sweetheart, how about a ride?" Flotnick asked, stroking himself as he grinned at her.

"Put it away, Flotnick. You're already looking at assault, I can easily add indecent exposure," Morgan threatened. "JJ, get a couple cops in here."

She nodded, wide-eyed and turned away from the door.

"Assault? There was no damn assault," Flotnick argued.

"Oh, believe me, between your piss and your nasty breath, it was assault."

Flotnick scoffed again. "Candy ass."

Morgan didn't get the chance to retort or physically attack, which he was sorely tempted to do. Two uniformed RPD cops came in one with handcuffs ready, the other with his nightstick out. They dragged Flotnick out, cursing and giggling his drunken head off.

"You alright," JJ asked.

He grimaced. "I'll live, but I'm going back to the hotel to shower...and burn these clothes." There was piss all over his shirt and pants, and even the side of his head, which he managed to turn to protect his face.

"I'll let Hotch know."

JJ disappeared then, and Morgan trudged out of interrogation, cursing colorfully.


	12. Chapter 12

_So I meant to get this up Tuesday, but my shoulders have been giving me problems, which means pain. It's been a bit better the last couple of days, so I'm cautiously optimistic. If writing my paper goes as smoothly this weekend as I'm hoping, I should be able to work on another chapter and get that out this Tuesday. _

_More story related, no worries no one else is going to be peed on in this story. Though I will say for what I have planned the two chapters after this will be pretty emotionally heavy, so fair warning for that. _

_And thank you again to the people who emailed me about where to watch the show online, I got to see the premiere last night, and I'm deliriously happy because of it. :)_

_Thanks for reading and please review!_

* * *

><p>Prentiss just about stomped into the empty conference room, fuming as she drew her leg back, and sent a chair flying back. It wasn't a great kick though, because she clipped her toes, and proceeded to bounce on one foot, cursing furiously. "Goddamn it, Goddamn it!"<p>

"Em?" A nervous, quiet voice asked.

Emily frowned, and scanned the room for an open laptop, locating it where JJ had been working at the end of the table. She walked over, and found Garcia looking worried back in her office at Quantico. "Hi."

"Everything okay?"

She sighed. "Yeah, just...interviews aren't going well."

"Oh?" Garcia relaxed a tiny bit. "Well, it can only be one of them, you're going to get a lot of dead ends."

Emily nodded, but that wasn't it. No, that was something she could live with. The problem was the two guys she interviewed began with, 'hey, didn't I see you on TV last night?' and subsequently launched into a pity narrative, and she couldn't get them to shut up and focus on her questions. One of the assholes even tried taunting her, and that was when Hotch pulled her out, and told her to work on running background and alibis with Garcia and JJ, who was busy dealing with some of their more rowdy subjects. Emily supposed she should be grateful she wasn't peed on, like poor Morgan.

"So, I'm actually glad you're here, because I found a couple of interesting things. You ready?" The tech looked enthusiastic, and Emily lousy mood lifted a little bit.

"Sure, what do you have?"

"Well, first we can cross a couple more fellows off our list. Doug Wright is still at a hotel in Atlantic City, that's why you guys can't find him. Warner Chesley is a night security guard for SimpleLife Construction, according to his employer he was working last night. Anthony Landrix has credit card purchases that put him in New Hampshire last night. So, three down, my dear."

Emily wiped them off the dry erase board. "You are truly a goddess, Garcia."

"Oh honey, I'm not done yet. I'm still running some of these guys. And, I found something else that at least gives me an icky feeling." She cringed and stuck her tongue out for effect.

Her eyebrows rose. "Icky?"

"So, a familiar name came up, you remember Jacob Freeling, he was in the first batch of names?"

"Yeah, Morgan and I interviewed him. He seemed like a good kid."

Garcia nodded. "His brother's name is on your potential list of suspects, so I decided to dig into these boys' history a bit. Their mother's name is Samantha Freeling, and she had Mathew, the older boy, when she was barely fifteen. She was twenty-six when Jacob came along. There isn't a father listed on either birth certificate, and according to census records, she was living with her father when she had Mathew, but not Jacob. George Freeling, Samatha's father, died in 1987, leaving her the house and whatever money he had."

"I'm still waiting on the icky part, Garcia," she said.

"Well, you guys put Mathew on the list because he was being sexually abused, and she didn't get pregnant with Jacob until after her father died...what if George Freeling was protecting his grandson from his crazy daughter?"

"And, when he died Samantha had no one to stop her from molesting her son," Emily filled in.

"Oh, sometimes I hate this job!" Garcia was cringing in horror.

"Hey, can you pull up Jacob's file. The type of abuse they suspect with him wasn't specified, right?"

"Hang on," she began and then cut herself off. "Oh god, Emily, are you thinking she was molesting Jacob as well?"

"He denied it when we spoke to him, said it was only physical, but if she was sexually abusing one son it would make sense that she'd abuse the other," she explained.

"Make sense? In what kind of world does a mother raping her on children makes sense?"

"Samantha Freeling's world, maybe."

Garcia shook her head, and Emily could hear her fingers clicking along the keyboard as she pulled up the file. "Alright, it looks like the teacher who made the allegation thought physical, but the social worker couldn't find proof of any kind of abuse."

"Do you have an address on the mother?" Emily asked.

"That's the other thing, Samantha Freeling is dead and buried beside her father. She died a month ago, after plowing her car into a telephone pole, she was severely inebriated according to the police report."

"That could be a stressor," she thought aloud. She swung around to the whiteboard filled with names. Mathew Freeling was listed under people they couldn't find. "Uh, Garcia did Samantha or George have any family around Ryeburg? And, can you check for who they're neighbors were during 1977 and 1988?"

"Sure, it might take me a minute though."

"That's fine, we've got too many people to get through here," she said. "Oh, and you're right, this is icky."

"What's icky?" She looked quickly up from the screen to see Morgan walking in, looking still a little annoyed.

"Hey, do you feel better?" She asked, getting up and walking toward him.

"I feel cleaner."

"You certainly smell cleaner."

His lips turned up in one of his uber-smooth smiles. "Yeah, well I know a clean, fresh scent drives the ladies crazy."

She rolled her eyes, and that's when they both heard the small voice calling out to them, and by the sound of it, she'd been calling out a while. "Yoohoo! Guys? What happened?"

"Sorry, Garcia!" Emily called rushing back toward her, Derek right behind her.

"What do you mean feels better? Were you sick?" She was looking entirely at Morgan now, eyes filled with concern, and a little bit of annoyance, probably because they forgot to mention it.

"No, damn drunk pissed all over me. I had to go back to the hotel room and shower," he explained. Then he looked between them. "What's icky?"

"You mean other than that?" Her nose was wrinkled and face squished in disgust.

* * *

><p>Reid carefully wiped names off the whiteboard, men they'd interviewed and determined were not their killer. The cops had located and brought in thirty of the men, leaving seven still unaccounted for, and one of those was probably their killer. They'd gotten through twenty-three interviews, and Rossi, Hotch and Morgan each had a man in an interrogation room. That left four still waiting, and one more round of interviews.<p>

This case was not going well, it felt like they were spinning their wheels without a real direction to take, and the county crime lab came up with nothing to help them. The killer didn't leave fluids, and while there was plenty of trace evidence collected, none of it was found at all four crime scenes. They couldn't link any of it specifically to the unsub.

A ringing startled him, and Reid jumped and dropped the eraser. He bent down and picked it up as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Reid."

"Dr. Spencer Reid?" An unfamiliar voice asked. A female voice, energetic, but cautious.

"Yes, this is he."

She began to speak very quickly. "This is Mandy Kasen with USA Today, I understand you work very closely with Emily Prentiss, and was wondering if you saw the special that aired on TrueTV last night?"

"No comment," he said, and went to hang up, but her frantic voice stopped him.

"Wait! Dr. Reid, if you'll please just hear me out, you don't have to say anything...please?"

"Fine." He could give her two minutes, and then hang up on her.

"Thank you," she said. "Dr. Reid, there have been a lot of voicing sounding off about the murders in Albany, and Senator Bennet's subsequent mental breakdown and the events following. But the only voice we haven't heard is the one that matters most, Agent Prentiss. Your teams' media liaison Agent Jareau has occasionally addressed the subject, but she hasn't said more than a few words, and keeps saying that Agent Prentiss isn't giving any kind of statement on anything. She is the victim in all this, Dr. Reid, if there's anyone with a right to be heard it's her. Is the FBI censoring her? Why is she refusing to speak?"

He sighed. "Ms. Kasen, I agree with you that if anyone has a right to a voice in this, it's Agent Prentiss, but I also believe she has a right to stay silent. And, she has a right to get on with her life without you and your colleagues following her around, and demanding sound bites from her. We are in Ryeburg trying to apprehend a serial rapist, and you are all making it more difficult for all of us." Reid hung up, shaking his head in disgust, and turned to see his female colleagues had re-entered the room and were watching him.

Emily turned to JJ, and then focused on both of them. "They've been calling all of you this whole time, haven't they?"

JJ shrugged. "They call me all the time anyway."

"Yeah, but not about me."

"I got some about Rossi when he first joined us, it's not a big deal, Emily."

She shook her head. "It is to me."

"It's really not, I usually just say no comment and hang up," Reid assured her. She still looked pissed, and he knew it wasn't because they kept the information from her.

Commotion at the door had them all turning to see Rossi and Hotch discussing their interviews, and Morgan looking frustrated and impatient. Reid figured he was probably eager for a door to kick down.

"What's going on?" Hotch asked, looking at the three of them.

"Have you guys also been fielding press calls about me?" Emily asked.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," Hotch assured her, then quickly changed the subject. "Where are we on the list?"

Truthfully, it wasn't new. They'd all be getting press inquiries since the week she was abducted, though they'd been expecting interest to die down. It hadn't. The Bureau had had Emily's number changed two days after they found her. They tended to hand out a lot of business cards, so it wasn't hard to get their phone numbers. The flurry of calls to her had been so intense the Bureau changed the number, and decided they wouldn't give her new business cards until it all died down. She still didn't have any. Unfortunately for the rest of the team, they had all still been working, and had to continue handing out business cards, so there was no point to changing their numbers.

"We've got four more to interview, five of the men we couldn't find are still unaccounted for, and three are still on our possible suspects list. Oh sorry, four on the possibles list, the fourth is on the list we couldn't interview," Reid explained, gesturing to their many lists.

Morgan's phone rang then, and he hurried to grab it and go out of earshot, so as not to interrupt them. Reid watched Hotch's severe expression falter for just a second, to reveal the exhaustion and stress he kept hidden from even them.

He nodded. "You can cross the three men we just interviewed from the list, none of them fit the profile."

There was a quiet snap, and Morgan rejoined the group just as JJ's phone went off, and she stepped away. Morgan looked at Reid. "Cross off Taylor Holmes too, Garcia just managed to get in touch with his sister, he's spent the last month at a sanitarium, he's an alcoholic. And," he glanced at the pad, "Jonathon Petrie can go, his alibi checks out, he was with a hooker last night."

"Nice alibi," Rossi commented.

That took one off their 'unable to find list' and one off the three interviewed possbiles. Progress, but still painfully slow. He noted JJ walking back toward them, her attention was on Hotch and Emily.

"That was one of the nurse's taking care of Jessica Kline, she's asking for you, Emily," she said.

Emily's mouth opened slightly, but she didn't react otherwise, except to turn to Hotch. He nodded. "Go see her, but take JJ with you." He paused. "While you're there, talk to the second victim-" Both women made to object, but he held a hand up. "I know, just try."

The second victim was still an inpatient at the local hospital, in their psychiatric ward. The Lieutenant didn't know much about it, but the young woman was apparently unable to function on her own after the attack. Reid did not envy his colleagues. Talking to victims is hard, but talking to a victim as broken as this woman is something you carry around with you for a while.

The two women exchanged an unhappy look, and headed out the door with a 'see you later' to them. Hotch looked at the four of them remaining. "We still have interviews to conduct."


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry I meant to get this up yesterday, I suck._

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><p>Thanks to their FBI badges they weren't asked to put visitor stickers on, just waved through by the receptionist. Jessica was in the same room she'd been in yesterday, so they didn't need directions and found their way through with little fuss. All hospitals look the same. Some are bigger than others, some busier, or more high-tec, but they were all the same labyrinthine systems of hallways and too bright fluorescents. This one looked like every other hospital Emily had every been in, including the one in Alabama that had treated her a little more than six weeks ago.<p>

Outside her room they found an elderly man dressed in business casual, a stricken expression pulling his mouth into a taught grimace. He stopped his slow pacing, and watched them approach, eyes searching for a hint of who they were. They didn't have to introduce themselves. "You came," he said.

"Yes, and you are...?" Emily asked, extending a hand.

"Jess's father. My wife is in there with Jess and Abby now, we're taking the girls back to Boston with us." He shook his head, looking toward the ground. "I didn't know what James was doing to her...if I'd known it wouldn't have lasted this long. I want to kill the bastard."

Emily swallowed. "The important thing is, he can't hurt her anymore, and you and your wife will help her get through it."

"She said you convinced her to turn him in, and call us for help."

She nodded, but wasn't sure what to say.

He released a breath. "I can't thank you enough for that. We didn't know, and if she didn't...if she didn't leave him, he'd have killed my daughter at some point. Seeing what he did to her," he inhaled, and cleared his throat. "My wife, she said you were a hero for saving those two kids, I honestly didn't pay much attention to that whole thing, but you may well have saved my little girl and my grandbaby, and now I have to agree with her. You are a hero, Agent Prentiss. Thank you."

Emily nodded again, rigid in her discomfort, and went to extend her hand, but instead the clearly shaken man, enveloped her in a tight hug. She bit her lip, and patted his back, but was so tense it was almost painful. JJ must have noticed, because as soon as the man let her go, the blonde was next to her, barely inches away.

He stepped back then, and gestured them inside the room. Abby was sitting on the edge of the bed, close to her mother, and an older woman sat in the chair beside the bed. The little girl was speaking animatedly until she heard them enter. She smiled. "Hi Jennifer, Hi Emily."

The both smiled at the girl, and greeted her, nodding toward Jessica and her mother. When they'd arrested James, JJ had gently taken the girl back to the playroom and waited for a family friend to show up, so she viewed both agents as friendly faces.

"Why don't we go to the cafeteria and get you a snack, Abby? I know I could use some coffee, and I bet grandpa can too." The older woman got up, and held a hand out of her.

"But, I want to stay and talk to Jennifer," she pouted.

"Maybe later, honey. Come on." Reluctantly, the little girl jumped off the bed, and took her grandmother's hand. Once they'd left, Emily turned her attention back to Jessica.

"Thank you for coming." Jessica's voice was soft, almost timid.

"Of course," Emily said. "What did you want to see me for? Has James tried to contact you?"

"No, nothing like that. The county attorney was here last night, got the paperwork for the restraining order written up. She said it went through today without a hitch, and I don't think James made bail yet anyway." She inhaled, blue eyes piercing through Emily's. "She said that I'd have to testify against him, and I don't, I don't know if I can do that."

Emily walked over to her, and sat on the edge of the bed. "You're afraid of facing him."

She nodded. "I know that makes me seem weak-"

Prentiss shook her head. "No Jessica, no, it doesn't. What you're doing, what you're going to have to do...it isn't easy, and being afraid to do it doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."

"How do I do it then?"

"I don't really know, I've never been in your situation, but I know most mothers would do anything for their children. So, that's what I would say, think about your little girl, and what her life would be like if you don't leave your husband, if you don't testify against him." Emily held the other woman's hand, feeling totally ill equipped to hand out advice, but feeling obligated to anyway.

* * *

><p>JJ tried not to be totally obvious as she glanced at Emily. They were headed toward the psychiatric ward now, and the brunette already looked completely emotionally wrung out. She hadn't said anything since they'd left Jessica Kline's room, but JJ had never seen her friend look so uncomfortable, or struggle so hard to bury her emotions. This interview was not going to be easy, and JJ was beginning to question Hotch's wisdom in sending them do to it.<p>

"Agents Jareau and Prentiss here to speak to Calley Dreyfus," JJ introduced them, as they stopped at the nurse's station and flashed their badges.

"Let me page her doctor." The young man at the station immediately picked up the phone, and punched in several sets of numbers. After a minute he hung up, and after two more minutes of unbearably awkward silence, the phone rang. He spoke quickly to the person on the end of the line, explaining that there were two FBI agents at the nurse's station. Then he hung up again. "She'll be with you in a moment."

JJ shot a look at Emily, who was already shooting her a matching one. If he thought they were intimidating, she'd love to see Morgan and Hotch walk in here. They were like Marvell characters, the Hulk and the Man That Never Smiled.

"Agents?" They turned to see an older woman in a white coat, a thick mint green folder in her arms, glasses perched on her nose, and hair pulled back, away from her face.

"Yes, Prentiss, Jareau," Emily said, gesturing between them.

"I already told Ryeburg PD that Ms. Dreyfus is in a delicate condition right now, and not able to handle an interrogation."

JJ's eyebrows rose. "Dr...?"

"Cavanaugh."

"Dr. Cavanaugh, we aren't here to upset your patient, and we have no plans to interrogate her, we just want to see if she remembers anything. I promise we'll be very gentle with her," she said.

"Agent Jareau, she's on suicide watch, has been since that animal attacked her." If scowls could kill, they'd both be dead.

JJ grew annoyed. "Yes, well his last victim is comatose, and his next one is very likely to be dead if we can't catch him."

"I'll allow you a few minutes with her, as long as she consents to it, but if you upset her, I'll have security come and throw you both out if I have to."

"That won't be necessary, ma'am," Emily said.

Satisfied but still plenty angry, the good doctor turned heel, and led them down the hall. She stopped at number 318, and knocked gently, before putting a key in the lock, and pushing the door open. "Calley, these FBI agents would like to ask you a few questions if you feel up to, if you don't I'll see them out."

The room was fairly sparse, but looked much like a hospital room. It had a bed, a chair, a TV mounted to the wall, and a closet. The primary differences were that there wasn't a window, or a door to a bathroom. And then, there was the video camera with the blinking red light. A young woman with light, ash brown hair sat between the bed and the wall, her wrists thickly bandaged, and eyes dark and sunken into her skull. She was wearing a hospital gown, and holding a stuffed brown puppy. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, puppy resting on top, fingers aimlessly playing with its fur. She glanced at them, then back to the TV she'd been watching. "They can stay."

The doctor nodded. "Agents don't forget that camera is recording everything."

They nodded, and waited for the doctor to leave.

"You didn't catch him yet." They both turned back to Calley. JJ took a couple steps toward her, but kept herself several feet away. Emily didn't move from by the door.

"No, not yet. That's why we're here, Calley. We need to know what you remember, it may help us determine who he is," JJ began gently.

"He's fucking Lucifer."

"We study behavior, Calley. We need to know what he did, what stood out to you?" Emily moved from the door, and stood near JJ.

"You want to know what stood out to me while I was being raped? Are you stupid?" She hissed.

"Yes, Calley, because I know, no matter how hard you tried to eject yourself from the situation, how desperately you tried to pretend he wasn't there, ignore his hands all over you skin, ignore the sound of his grunts, his panting, the smell of his sweat, you were still right there, stuck living every miserable second."

JJ watched her friend lock eyes with the second victim of their unsub, and she saw the young woman's tough veneer begin to shake. Calley nodded. "He went down on me. I've had boyfriends that wouldn't even do that, but that that son of a bitch didn't stop until I came." Her voice cracked midway through, and she began to cry.

"That's not your fault," JJ said. Calley just shook her head miserably. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

She was silent for several minutes, and then suddenly she began to violently shake her head. "No. No, no, no."

"Calley, are you alright?" JJ asked.

"No, it didn't happen. It didn't happen," she said, and began to rock back and forth.

"Calley?" Emily repeated.

"It didn't happen, it didn't happen," she continued to repeat. "If it didn't happen, I can sleep, I can stop feeling him all over me, I can stop feeling him inside me. IT DIDN'T HAPPEN!" Her shout sent them both reeling back.

"No, stop! Stop! Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Stop! Stop! Stop! Please stop! Please, please stop!" Calley had dissolved into tears, screaming and rocking back and forth, slamming her head against the wall.

Suddenly, Dr. Cavanaugh rushed in with two orderlies and hurried over to her hysterical patient. She began screaming even louder and more desperately when they got near her, and started lashing out physically, furiously kicking and hitting them.

Cavanaugh whipped around. "Out now, both of you!"

JJ turned to leave, but Emily seemed stuck in place, staring with wide, blank eyes at the scene. JJ touched her arm, and Emily snapped out of it, following her out and to the SUV. JJ drove, pulling down the parking lot and onto the road, sparing a few not so hidden glances at the very quiet Emily.

They were on the highway, heading back toward town when the profiler finally spoke. "Pull over."

"What?" JJ glanced at her, frowning.

"Please, pull over now. Right now."

JJ noted something was definitely wrong, and signaled, yanking the SUV to the side of the road as quickly as possible. Emily had her seatbelt off and the door open before she even got the car into park. She just about sprinted into the brush nearby, while JJ yanked the keys from the ignition, and climbed out to chase after her. She hadn't taken two steps when she saw Emily bend over and vomit.

* * *

><p>Her throat burned and her stomach spasmed violently, as she purged herself of the day's meals. Somehow she managed to stay upright as she heaved and heaved again, the whoosh of passing cars and the crunch of JJ's footsteps behind her. Her stomach stopped clenching then, and she got a moment to breathe. She inhaled great gasps of air, and then the images of hysterical Calley, of needy Jessica, of her too-grateful father flashed in front of her again, and her stomach tightened painfully. Emily continued throwing up again and again until tears were pricking her eyes, and she was dry heaving without anything left to purge.<p>

As the spasms subsided she felt JJ's hand come to rest on her back, gentle movements trying to soothe her. Emily's whole body was trembling from the effort, and a dull throb was already beginning to settle in her head. She stood bent over for about another minute, and then convinced it was over, slowly straightened up. She was met with worried blue eyes, and a napkin from the car. Rather than attempt to speak, Emily nodded her thanks as she took the napkin, and wiped her mouth.

"Are you okay?" JJ had let her hand drop, but not her concern.

She shook her head. "No. No, I'm not okay. I can't do this, JJ."

The blonde looked surprised for a moment, before covering it up. "It's okay, Em. Tell me what you can't do."

She swallowed, and wiped off her face, her hands still visibly shaking. "I want to go back. I want to go back before Chris, and just be a faceless cop in a suit again. I don't want strangers writing me letters about what a hero I am, or their experiences being raped, and I don't want psychos breaking into my fucking hotel room or sending me flowers! I don't want Jessica looking to me for guidance, I've never left an abusive husband, I don't know what she should do, and I don't want her father looking at me like I'm a saint! I don't want the credit, and I can't handle the burden! I don't want reporters following me around, or TV stations digging into my past! I don't want every person I meet knowing who I am, and what Chris did to me, but I can't do anything to fix that!" She bit her lip, and inhaled as tears began to pour out her eyes. "And, god help me, JJ. I don't want to be that girl back there, cutting my wrists and banging my head against a wall trying to make it all go away. But, I cannot take this, I don't want this, I just want my life back. _My _life."

JJ stepped forward and hugged her. "I can't change everything else, but I can tell assure you that you're doing much better than Calley Dreyfus. And, she probably had problems before the unusb raped her. You won't become like her."

Emily offered a bitter sob-filled laugh. "I'm not as far off as you think."

The media liaison pulled away then, frown etched into her delicate features. "What do you mean?"

"I can barely sleep without Morgan, even before Liberman's visit. I have a nightmare, and I'm up for the rest of the night, unless Derek is there beside me. I slept in my bathtub once, just so when I woke up, I'd know it wasn't a bed, and that Chris wasn't with me. I know he's dead, but he's still with me. I can still feel him touching me, and smell his breath and his sweat, I still have his taste in my mouth from when he kissed me, and there's not enough mouthwash or toothpaste on the whole damn planet to get rid of it. And, I _saw_ him die, hell Morgan wiped pieces of him off me. But, he's in my head, and I can't get rid of him. And, I'm scared, JJ. I'm so scared it will never go away, that I'll get rid of him. I'm scared I'll never be able to be with a man again. I'm scared that at some point Morgan's going to get tired of holding me together, that he's going to want to get back to being a player, and I'll end up sleeping in my damn bathtub again." Tears were flowing freely from her eyes now, and she hated herself for breaking down, hated herself for being so scared and so weak.

Face absent of any judgment, JJ just stepped forward and pulled her into another hug. Emily reciprocated and wrapped her arms around her friend, letting her tears fall onto JJ's shoulder. The blonde rested a hand on Emily's head, stroking her hair, and asked, "Jesus, how long have you been holding all that in, Emily?"

She laughed, but still continued to cry. And, JJ continued to hold her, offering gentle motions to soothe her. She let her cry, even though she smelled like vomit, and was probably holding her too tightly, too desperately, and they were on the side of the highway, and really should get back to work. She just let her cry.

* * *

><p><em>Okay little disclaimer here, PTSD does not present with psychotic episodes; I have to say that, just in case anyone is thinking it does. I would guess that Calley Dreyfus would be diagnosed with PTSD and Depression with psychotic features. Most of you probably don't care, but I can't write about mental illness without making an attempt to portray accuracy. It's misunderstood enough as is, I don't need to add to it. And, I could be even more annoyingly specific, but I'll let it go. Also FYI, PTSD is Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. And obviously, I'm not a shrink, so this is educated guessing on my part.<em>


	14. Chapter 14

_I wish I could be James Patterson or Tom Clancy and have a stable of writers that I could just feed detailed story outlines to, review the finished work, and been done with it. Just to catch up on the sheer volume of stories constantly bombarding my head and fighting for attention like it's a sport, and to put to rest the ones that even though already buried and forgotten, periodically rear up like zombies and gnaw teasingly on my brain. Of course, I'm far too much of a control freak to let anyone else write my stories for me. Meh._

_Rant over. Little note, I've got midterms coming up next week, so the next chapter (and/or the one after) may be delayed, but as soon as midterms pass, I'm going to work on cranking out this story asap. _

_Thank you everyone for your reviews on this story, the recent Addy story, and Letting Go; they all made me really happy. :)_

* * *

><p>"Hey babygirl, you have anything new?" Morgan stretched as he wandered around the parking lot. He'd been the first finished with his interview and needed a minute to get a little fresh air and talk to Garcia.<p>

It was already starting to get dark, and they weren't much closer to catching the unsub. This was going on his list of cases he hated, and wanted to bury in a deep, dark hole in his brain. Unfortunately, those tended to be the ones that really stuck with him.

"No, sorry handsome. I'm going as fast as my fingers will move." She sounded guilty, like she thought it was her fault that she couldn't find more information.

"That's alright, you've done plenty. We'll figure out the rest." He kicked a stone into the grass, and focused his eyes on the moon that was just barely becoming visible.

"Derek? You sound like you have something else on your mind." He was silent as he tried to think of a way to broach the subject, long enough that she repeated herself, voice cautious. "Derek?"

"I love her."

Now Garcia was silent for several beats. "Well, no one's ever going to accuse you of being subtle, honey."

He laughed through his nose. Garcia sighed on her end. "So, I assume 'her' refers to a certain attention-phobic, kick-ass, dark-haired beauty that's currently being put through a hell of an emotional wringer?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah. You couldn't just say, Prentiss?"

"My way is more fun," she said. "And, when you say 'love' you mean the deep, makes your heart race, your knees weak, and your belly hurt kind?"

He sighed, and decided to just say exactly what was on his mind. "Reid said something yesterday, and then when I was holding her last night-"

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up there, _holding_ her? Since when did you two start cuddling?"

"I figured JJ would have told you?" He owed the media liaison for keeping quiet, even from Garcia.

"No! How does JJ know?" Her voice was high and excited, so Morgan sighed and explained what happened last night.

"Yeah, I would have been panicking too. So, back to my other question, when did you two start snuggling up together?"

"The day after Bennett died. And, we don't always snuggle, she just likes the company."

"She feels safe with you."

"Yeah." He nodded to himself.

Garcia inhaled. "So, you were saying something about Reid saying something and you holding her last night...?"

"I don't do love, I don't do relationships, and I didn't mean to..." He sighed. "This is bad, babygirl."

"Why's it bad?"

"Aside from the fact that if he find outs, Hotch will have my balls? Prentiss isn't ready for this, she went through hell, and she's still trying to get through it, she doesn't need this right now."

"Alright, first, the Bossman has his own brass set, he doesn't need yours. And, second," she said cutting off his attempted protest. "This might be exactly what she needs, to know that she's still loveable, still attractive, that she's still very much her, even after all she went through."

He'd like to think that was true, but he wasn't so sure. He glanced up to see a black SUV coming down the street, flipping it's blinker on, and as it got closer he could make out a brunette and a blonde inside. "I've got to go, babygirl."

"Okay, don't stress to much about this, Derek. In my book, love is never a bad thing."

"Yeah, thanks," he said unconvincingly. He was still betting Hotch would kill him if he found out he had feelings for Prentiss. Or maybe just neuter him.

* * *

><p>They'd barely stepped into the police station, when Hotch told her and Morgan to turn back around and go interview Jake Freeling again. His brother still couldn't be found by the locals, and was looking more and more like a viable suspect. Fortunately for her, Hotch hadn't commented on her red eyes and nose, and Reid and Rossi had been too occupied to notice. Morgan had remained mum as well, but with him, a look was enough to tell her that he was concerned. The level of compassion in his eyes was sometimes hard to take, and it this time was no exception, so she'd avoided eye contact.<p>

They climbed into the car with few words, Morgan driving, and started toward the small house Jake inhabited. The locals had informed them that it was part of a government-built housing project, and far from its heyday. Five minutes down the street, Morgan reached past the shifter and slipped his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers. Emily reacted with surprise at first, but then gently squeezed his hand in a show of thanks. She was aware how close they were treading the line between friends and something more.

It scared the hell out of her.

"You know, if we catch this guy tonight, we can be out of here tomorrow," he said, attention not wavering from the road.

"That would be nice," she agreed.

"It may not be a bad idea for you to take a few days when we get back, shake this off."

She turned to look at him, expression just shy of a scowl, and she was about to speak when her cell rang. Sighing, Emily pulled it out, and answered it. "Prentiss."

"Emily?" It was a man's voice, and vaguely familiar, but other than that, she couldn't place it.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"It's me, George."

Her breath froze in her throat, and her heart rate jumped into a gallop. "How the hell did you get this number?"

"Well, I've got a friend in the system, he knows how much we mean to each other. I miss you, beautiful." He sounded so kind, so sweet, and just as delusional as Chris.

"You don't even know me. How did you get a phone, your privileges have been revoked?"

"They can smuggle anything into prisons now, even cell phones. I've got that hearing tomorrow, so I'll be out soon, alright sweetness? I'll see you then."

"No, no you won't. You come near me again, and I'll shoot you, and I won't aim for your damn leg this time. And, do not call me again!" She hit the end button, and had a messy fight with the phone until she was able to pull her battery out. It was then she noticed Morgan watching her, eyes a little wide, body tense, ready to pounce on whoever needed pouncing.

"Tell me that wasn't that little freak Liberman?"

"Yes. He got a smuggled cell phone, and somehow my number."

Morgan hit the steering wheel, face twisting with anger as he turned down the side road to Freeling's house. "We should call the prison and tell them."

She nodded, and reached into his pocket for his phone, calling first information, and then getting connected with the jail. She spoke with the head guard, who promised to deal with Liberman straight away. By the time Emily had thanked him and hung up, they were pulling up to the dilapidated housing project Jake Freeling called home.

She handed the phone back to Morgan, and they walked through the houses, looking for the corrected number. It wasn't the most glamorous settlement, but it would have a certain charm if anyone had bothered with upkeep. There were small houses, split to make half houses to fit more families. But each had a small porch, and an almost country look to it. Then there was the flaking paint, rusted screens, and cracked railings. Bikes were left in the small yards, a tire swing beside one, a big wheel beside another, and a few made attempts at garden. They may have looked nice in the spring or summer, it was hard to tell now.

And people were scattered about, socializing, children chasing each other, but most stopped to stare at the two well-dressed cops-no one here was about to mistake them for anything else-that suddenly entered their little piece of the world. Emily actually appreciated being stared at for something other than her new-found fame. Ignoring this kind of attention that wasn't all that unusual, Morgan knocked gently on the door to number 17.

The door opened to reveal a familiar petite young woman with short, rust-colored curls, a baby-face full of freckles, and a belly swollen to fifth or sixth month of pregnancy. Kirsten Hanes. Her surprise fell away to a smile. "Hi there, you're looking for Jake again?"

"We are, Ms. Hanes. Is he home?" Morgan didn't miss a beat, quickly covering up his surprise.

"He's in the nursery, crib just came in." Her smile fell then, and she didn't move. "He told me you guys were asking about those rapes...he didn't do any of that. Jake isn't capable of hurting anyone like that."

"We aren't looking at him as a suspect, we'd actually like to ask him about his brother," Emily explained.

She actually shifted back. "Matt? You think he did it?"

"We're looking at him as a suspect," Morgan said. "What can you tell us about him?"

"Well I...I wouldn't believe he could rape anyone. He's a sweet guy, a little weird, but far too gentle to do what that guy did to those animals, and that poor woman."

"What do you mean, weird?"

She opened her mouth, looked between them, and sighed. "Come on in." She showed them to a small living room that while furnished inexpensively, still held a very homey, welcoming feel. "Let me get Jake."

When he arrived the young man looked less than thrilled to see them. "Kirsten said you want to know about Matt?"

"What was his relationship like with your mother?" Morgan launched right in.

"He hated her, I think I mentioned that."

"You did, did he mention why?"

Jake sighed and finally sat down, arms across his chest. "I assumed it was because she hit him like she hit me. I hated her too."

Emily leaned forward. "Jake, did you mother ever touch you inappropriately?"

"What, you mean like molest me?" Emily nodded. He frowned, and unconsciously bit his lip. "Once, not long before Matt came for me. I told him about it after a few days, and he that's when he came for me...why?"

"How did he react when you told him that she'd touched you?"

"He was furious. He had to be cause he screamed at her when he came, I'd never heard him yell at anyone, let alone our mother. I always thought he was afraid of her." Kirsten returned then, sitting beside Jake, who was instantly focused on her, making sure she was comfortable, and slipping his hand into hers. "Jake isn't a bad guy, and he isn't violent."

"Does he date much?" Morgan asked. If the unsub had that many issues with his mother and himself, it's unlikely he'd do much dating.

"He's just really shy," Kirsten defended.

Jake nodded. "He's not very good with people, real introverted, you know? I think his last girlfriend was over a year ago, she didn't last long."

"We haven't been able to find Matt, do you have any idea where he could be?" Emily said.

"If he's not at his apartment, or working, then no, not really."

"He doesn't have a favorite bar? A hobby? Someplace he likes to go?" Morgan pressed.

"I told you, he doesn't socialize much, and I've never really known him to have a hobby. He was taking some classes at the community college, but I don't think he signed up for any this semester."

Morgan's phone rang then, and he got up to answer it, while Emily remained with the couple, asking a few more questions. After a minute, Kirsten turned to her. "I've seen you on TV. It was really brave what you did for those kids." Emily nodded with a soft thanks, and Kirsten cleared her throat. "Is it hard? I mean I know raising kids isn't easy, but we're both a little nervous about our baby...we already love him though."

"I don't actually know, I was only with those kids a week."

Kirsten frowned. "You don't have any of your own? I figured you had to be a mother, only a mother would sacrifice that much for babies, even if they weren't hers."

She shook her head. "No, I don't have children." Then she decided to add. "But, I'm sure you'll both do fine with your baby."

"We just want to do better than either of our parents did," Jake said, squeezing Kirsten's hand.

Morgan came back over then, looking at Emily. "That was JJ. One of her sources told her someone tipped the press, and they're on their way here."

She didn't need to ask why. "We're done here anyway." She stood up and faced the young couple. "Good luck with the baby, I'm sure you'll be wonderful parents."

Kirsten beamed, and Jake straightened himself out. The two FBI agents quickly made for the SUV, Emily desperately wanting to know when this hell would end.


	15. Chapter 15

Matt Freeling worked for a construction company, and hadn't shown up at the job site for several days. While Rossi looked perfectly comfortable accepting a hard hat from man, and following his pointed finger onto the construction site, Reid looked like a fish out of water. His pale, skinny frame was very boyish, even more so among the thick, toned muscle and tan skin of the construction workers. Rossi was neither terribly toned, nor very tan, but he was still pretty comfortable among these men. His father had been blue collar all the way. Reid was just rather awkward, even more so in the orange hard hat.

"Excuse me, we're looking for Josh Henley," Rossi asked a passing worker, briefly flashing his badge.

The man's eyebrows rose, but he didn't react otherwise. "Josh is around back, working on the septic." Then he continued on his way.

Henley was the foreman, and Freeling's boss on this job. By the looks of it, the project was a large house, the old-fashioned kind with exposed beams, and wooden floors that weren't meant to be covered by carpet. Rossi made a mental note to mention it to Morgan. Now, he'd really feel at home here.

Rossi led the way toward the back of the house, where they were digging a hole for the septic. The machines were loud, and he saw Reid wince against the noise, and the shouts of the men working. Henley was easy to spot, the only man watching everything with a clipboard in his hands, keeping careful track of their progress. He didn't notice them at first, so Rossi tapped his shoulder, and held his badge up. The man's brow wrinkled, and he waved them away from the worksite, offering a nod to one of his men before walking away.

"What can I do for the FBI?" He asked, arms crossed over his chest, looking the picture of the stereotypical tough guy. Rossi would bet his next paycheck, if he asked, the man could instantly list the amount of weight he could bench press and how many repetitions he could do.

"We have some questions about one of your workers, Matthew Freeling," Reid explained.

"Freeling hasn't shown up in a couple of days, he's not one of mine anymore."

"Because he hasn't shown up?" Rossi clarified.

"Yeah. Too bad too, he was reliable up until this week. Good with the machines, and the work too. I'd have promoted him by now if he wasn't so bad with people."

"We've heard that he's a bit shy."

Henley snorted. "That's an understatement. Guys like us, we spend the day busting on each other and bullshitting, but Freeling? He just doesn't get it, takes it too seriously, so the guys stopped busting on him. And around women? I figured if he was that bad with guys, he had to be good with women." He shook his head. "He's worse. Can barely speak to them, doesn't look them in the eye, doesn't really look anyone in the eye, and if one flirts with him? Totally freaks him out."

"Is it possible he's homosexual?" Reid asked.

"Naw. If anything he's asexual."

"Do you know where he might go? Any place he likes to spend time?"

"Just his apartment. I told you, he doesn't really socialize." Henley shrugged.

"There's nobody that he's close to? That he'd go to if he was in trouble?" Reid asked.

"His brother, but that's about it. He isn't a guy that makes friends."

Rossi nodded. "Thank you for your time." They shook the man's hand, and headed out of the construction site, turning their hardhats in on the way out.

* * *

><p>Matthew Freeling's landlady let them into his apartment, though they had no warrant. They weren't really interested in obtaining evidence though, just some hint of where the guy would hide. Anything else, they'd leave for when they did get a warrant. Hotch allowed Morgan to enter first, gun drawn as he carefully stepped into the apartment. He headed toward the kitchen, Hotch made toward the bedroom.<p>

When Morgan and Prentiss had returned from the interview, she'd looked better than when they left, but Hotch had decided to give her a break anyway. He'd wanted her on the interview, because they'd interviewed Jacob together the first time, but she didn't need to be here. She didn't even object, which told him that she wasn't doing as well as she would have had them believe. Frankly, it was a little worrisome. Prentiss did not like being benched, even if she had a concussion or just took a beating, she'd still insist she was fine.

He cleared the bedroom and bathroom, and then began searching the closet and drawers for information on where Matthew Freeling could be. He was digging around in the nightstand drawer when Morgan came in.

"He didn't plan on leaving, there's still perishable foods in the fridge, and his cable and electric bills were on the table unpaid."

Hotch nodded. "He's devolving, that was evident with the last victim. He's in control enough to allude us though."

"Yeah...you find anything in here?"

"Clothes seem to be in order, suitcase is still in the closet, which confirms what you said, he didn't plan on leaving."

"He's nervous, could be good for us," Morgan said. "You think he's still in town?"

"He's got nowhere else to go, and he's self-loathing, it's likely that he's not worried about being caught."

"You think Prentiss is right, he's killing himself over and over again, not his mother? I mean, the victims fit with the mother in gender and age."

"But, not in personality. I think he chose women that are alike to his mother in physicality and himself emotionally, because he hates himself as much as he hates her." Hotch dug around, found a black film case with a gray lid. "Jacob" was written on the cover in marker.

Morgan sighed. "He's killing both of them. That's different."

Hotch shook out the contents of the film case into his hand, over a dozen tiny baby teeth landing in his palm. "He's not going to leave town."

Morgan stopped sorting through a stack of papers and looked at him. He showed him the lid with the younger Freeling's name. "Shit."

Keeping baby teeth isn't something a brother did, it was something a parent did. They had confirmation now; Samantha Freeling gave birth to her son's son.

* * *

><p>Morgan pulled into an open spot at the diner, and threw the SUV in park. He'd been designated to pick up real coffee and dinner. JJ and Emily had been rather vehement about the need for real coffee, and he couldn't really blame them. Hotch had handed him the Bureau credit card, and directed him to get sandwiches. With as long as they'd all been working together, he didn't even need to ask what kind.<p>

Hotch ate turkey and swiss on rye, pickles on the side, Rossi either went for a Reuben or pastrami on rye. Reid wasn't much of a sandwhich guy, so he usually went for chicken salad in a wrap, and the girls both attempted to eat healthy (though he'd seen them eat bacon cheeseburgers rather happily on occasion) turkey on wheat hold the mayo, and they usually exchanged tomato for pickles. JJ didn't like pickles at all, and Emily didn't like tomato on her sandwiches. And, he was a roast beef or ham guy, depending on his mood. With the works.

It was like any other diner on the east coast, with all the formica and naugahyde that somehow never went out of style even though it had never really come into style. Booths wrapped around the front and one side, and the other side was open, filled with small table and chair sets. The counter wrapped around the front and side, running parallel to the booths, with round red stools lined-up for people to sit.

There was a family and a couple in the side with the tables, and a group of teenagers in one booth, and elderly couple in another. Five stools were occupied, two by truckers, two more by two guys in their mid-twenties, both wearing blue coveralls, talking and laughing, and another man in his late thirties, eating by himself. He was blue collar like the truckers, but he couldn't tell much else. His baseball cap and facial hair obscured his face.

"Oh lord, I just might need to get myself a lottery ticket." The waitress stopped dead in front of him, eyes roving over him, shamelessly enjoying the view. "Please tell me you're here to sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this?"

She was a couple decades older than him, with an open, genuinely happy demeanor. Her blond curls were fastened behind her head, and though she wore more make-up then she needed, the extra twenty or thirty pounds she carried around, she wore well.

Morgan chuckled. "If only I could. I'm here working though."

"Working? In Ryeburg? What is it you do, you know, besides steal hearts?" She batted her eyes at him.

He pulled out his badge. Her mouth opened suddenly, and then she nodded. "You're working on the rapes around town."

"Yeah, that's us."

Her bubbling demeanor went serious. "You know that poor women those damn reporters have been chasing around then? I swear this town has never seen so many reporters the entire time I've lived here."

"I do, yeah." His good humor vanished with that topic as well.

"I saw that thing they had on TV last night, had all these people talking about her and that senator when they were in college, how in love they were. It just about broke my heart, knowing what he did to her...Is it true she can speak all those languages? They said she's fluent in Arabic, used to live over there in the Middle East, I've seen that and it looks like scribbles, I can't imagine it making sense, and-"

"Shut-up," a voice suddenly said. He turned to see the lone man from the counter pressing a gun into another waitress's head. She looked terrified and he looked unhinged.

He also looked familiar. Morgan could picture a younger version of the man on his Vermont driver's license, could hear Garcia commenting that he looked like an unhappy man.

He found their unsub.

* * *

><p><em>Yes, that's a cliffhanger, and yes, it's going to be more than a week before next update. I had this ready to go, so my options were to get it up now and torture you all with the cliffhanger, or sit on it, and give my faithful readers nothing for two weeks. I've gotten so many wonderful reviews on the last couple chapters, I decided I wanted to put this up as soon as possible. So thank you for the reviews, and for reading faithfully the last few months even though the updating has been a bit sporadic. After midterms are over, I'm going to really buckle down and get this story finished, it's getting to that point where the end is nearly in sight. <em>

_Now, I'm going to beg for a favor. I need you to help me clean my brain out. I have too many stories in my head, and I can't write them all. I created a poll with 7 summaries for chaptered stories that have been running through my head, some for a very long time. Voters get to pick two, and I'm junking at least the bottom two. Please, please help me. I'm too close to these to decide myself._

_Sorry for the long A/N.  
><em>


	16. Chapter 16

JJ hung up the phone, and sighed in frustration. They were handling the tip line, and not enjoying it. Half the calls were calling just at the chance to talk to Emily, who was looking more and more miserable as the minutes past. Hotch had actually received one that refused to give the tip to anyone except Emily. He'd hung up on them. So, when JJ's cell phone rang, she was a bit short answering.

"Jareau."

"It's Morgan."

"Please don't tell me the diner ran out of coffee," she said.

He didn't laugh. "I found Matt Freeling."

She was instantly alert. "Give me an address and we'll head over there now."

"The diner. Counting me there's fifteen people in here, he already let a group of teenagers and some kids that were with their parents go. The parents are in with the rest of us. He has a gun, and he took mine. He also took everyone's cell phones and my badge. He said he won't shoot unless he's provoked."

Her mouth opened, and she stopped breathing. "Is, is anyone hurt?"

"Not yet, ma'am."

_Ma'am_? "Morgan, what aren't you saying?"

"I don't know what he has planned, but I think he wants to talk." He was silent for a few beats, then suddenly spoke. "I have to go."

And, then the phone was dead.

"JJ, what's going on?" Emily was looking at her, as JJ stared at her cell phone like it had just bitten her.

"Matt Freeling is at the diner." It was called the Five Star Diner if she remembered correctly, along the highway on the outskirts of town. It was a decent place for a fugitive to get a meal. Shit.

Emily was instantly moving. "Great, I'll get Hotch."

"Emily," she called, stopping her. "Freeling has the diner hostage, including Morgan."

The profiler seemed to freeze to the spot, the blood seeming to drain from her face. Her eyes were what caused JJ to stop and stare though. She saw panic and fear wash through them like a wave, followed by pain, and then all of that vanished as she closed herself off. JJ saw something like determination, something she hadn't seen since the night Emily walked out of the diner in Albany and never made it back to their hotel.

"I'll get Hotch," she said, and walked out to find their leader.

* * *

><p>Reid clung to the dash as Rossi sped down the highway, siren screaming, pounding on the horn if people didn't move fast enough. He could see the Five Star Diner up ahead, two black SUVs in the parking lot as well as half a dozen police cruisers, an ambulance, and he'd bet a SWAT team was on the way. Morgan was somewhere inside that building with over a dozen other hostages, and their crazy unsub.<p>

"Uh Rossi, if you kill us, we can't help," he said, voice a little shaky.

Rossi shot him a glare, which meant he took his eyes off the road for a few seconds, and caused Reid to go white. After years of sampling each of his team member's driving skills in high stress situations, he should be used to white knuckle car rides. He wasn't. He didn't like cars, that's why he didn't drive.

They zoomed into the parking lot, sliding into a space beside one of the team's other SUVs. Hotch, JJ and Emily were standing with the Lieutenant, probably discussing strategy, all looking solemn. Reid felt a little queasy, and not just from the car ride.

"Aaron," Rossi called, bounding out and heading over, Reid jogging behind. "What do we know?"

"15 hostages including Morgan, a cook, three waitresses, and ten patrons. He has his own gun, and now Morgan's as well, and obviously, he knows Morgan is FBI." Hotch explained. "And, we think Morgan told the unsub that his boss is a woman."

Reid frowned and looked JJ and Emily, who were both looking at Hotch. Reid looked at him. "Why?"

"He called JJ, and addressed her as ma'am at one point in the conversation."

"He's trying to build a relationship with the unsub," Rossi said.

Reid nodded. "Makes sense. Freeling was completely submissive to his mother, oppressed by her even. If Morgan plays at having a tyrannical female boss, it could garner him some sympathy. The unsub might actually listen to him." Then he frowned. "But, I'd think Emily could play that better."

"Gee, thanks Reid." She rolled her eyes. Reid's widened.

"Oh! No, I didn't mean it that way," he tried to quickly correct that. His colleagues were all smirking at his accidental insult, including Emily.

"It's alright, don't worry about it," she said.

"I assume he chose JJ because of Emily's notoriety. If Freeling pays attention to TV, he'd know she's not the boss," Rossi explained.

"So, what's the plan?" JJ asked.

Rossi sighed, looked at Hotch, and then settled on JJ. "We're far too close to this, but Morgan may have put you in the hot seat. You up for it?"

She glanced nervously at Hotch. "I don't really do this, I'm not trained like you guys."

Hotch looked at her. "Get ready for a crash course." He looked at Rossi. "Coach JJ on how to talk to a hostage-taker, we'll focus on strategy."

The older man nodded, and gestured JJ to proceed first. She didn't look any less nervous.

* * *

><p>Emily slipped away from the group as Reid and Hotch worked with the local SWAT team leaders. Rossi was still sitting with JJ, talking animatedly with his hands, while JJ nodded her understanding, and looked a little nauseated. Emily felt for her, and was kind of glad she wasn't negotiating. Normally, she liked that seldom-used aspect of the job, but with Morgan in there, she found herself wanting it to be over as soon as possible.<p>

She walked toward the little shopping center next door to the free-standing diner. It had been evacuated already, and she was pretty sure there was a sniper on the roof. Emily walked around back, and leaned up against the concrete wall, releasing a choked breath. Hands on her thighs, she bent over at the waist, and struggled to take deep breaths around the sob in her chest. Tears pricked her eyes, but she held them at bay.

He would be fine.

David Rossi was arguably the best crisis negotiator in the country; hell, he'd taught other negotiators, JJ was not his first student. She was smart, she was quick on her feet, and Derek was like a brother to her. Together they would talk the unsub into releasing the hostages, _all_ of the hostages. It would be fine. No, it would be better than that.

Emily nodded to herself.

She stood up straight, pulling her hands off her thighs, and noticed the tremble running through them. She cursed and shook them out, trying to fling off the adrenaline and fear. But, she couldn't quiet it, not with the same thoughts running through her head.

_What the hell are you going to do without him to hold you together? _

No. No, she wasn't going to think like that. He was going to come out fine.

Either way, her freaking out right now wasn't going to help anyone. But god, part of her just wanted to run into that damn diner, and wrap her arms around him. To feel his arms around her, to feel his heart beating when she rested her head on his chest.

She was not a needy woman. Never had she been the clingy girlfriend sort, more the opposite, give me my space type of girlfriend. _Girlfriend?_ Oh god, what the hell were they doing, and what the hell made them think they wouldn't totally fuck it up? Or work. Like now.

Two months ago, she would not have been plastered against the back of a drugstore, trying to work through her panic so that she could actually work. Hell, she'd have probably been the one doing the negotiating, and planning to bust on Morgan for managing to get himself taken hostage on a sandwich run. Now all she could think was how desperately she wanted him safe, _needed_ him safe.

_Just__breathe_, she told herself. _Just__breathe__and__focus._She'd done this a dozen times before, slip into character and work it. She'd always been good about adopting other persona's, always been rather talented at deceiving people, even herself at times. This was like any other time, except this character was herself. Herself before Chris pointed a gun in her face, and turned her world upside down. Before the bastard turned her into as big a head case as himself.

Tough Emily.

One breath. Two. In and out. Shake it off, slide it on, make it work. She could do this.

She would do this.

* * *

><p>The cook, waitresses, and patrons of the diner were all seated in a cluster on the floor. Except Morgan. Freeling had him sitting on one of the booth tables, hands visible, palms-up in his lap. Apparently, he wasn't taking chances. He knew the team would figure out what he'd done, he just hoped it helped. And, while it wasn't his ideal way to end a case, he figured it could be worse. Freeling could have just started shooting at people. Or Prentiss could be the one in here. Then he'd be outside pacing like a crazed hyena.<p>

Freeling sat at the counter, Morgan's gun, still fastened into its holster, and stuffed down the front of his pants. He'd love to know who decided that shoving a gun right up against your dick was a good idea. He valued his far too much to do that, holster or no.

"You know, we know what she did to you," he said.

Freeling looked at him. He had the same hazel eyes and dark hair as Jacob, but his facial hair was thicker, too kempt to be mountain man, but thick nonetheless. He had on worn blue jeans, and a t-shirt underneath a thick flannel coat.

He walked toward Morgan. "What do you think you know?"

"She molested you. Did she come into your room at night, or did she make you come into hers?"

Freeling looked away.

"She started having sex with you when you were what, 11? As soon as you could get an erection I bet. You could take the hitting, it made you tougher, but the other? It ripped you up inside, didn't it?" Morgan pressed, voice steady, calm.

"You may know what she did, but you'll never know what it was like." Freeling's narrowed angry eyes turned away then. Morgan could have spoken about his own experience, but he wasn't going to unless it was the only option left.

"They're going to call in here soon, and they'll want to know what you're demands are...you should be ready," he said instead.

"Don't you mean she? Your boss, "the micromanaging bitch that's going to ream you out for not being able to complete the simple task of getting sandwiches," I believe is how you described her."

Morgan shrugged. "Probably, it could be someone else though, depends on how they decide to handle this."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you raped four women, and beat one into a coma. Clearly, you aren't a fan of the ladies, and she'll know that. I said she was bitch, I never said she wasn't smart."

Freeling looked at the floor, then back up at Morgan. "Why do you think she's like that?"

"My boss or your mother?" He asked.

The unsub glared at him. He'd certainly had more intimidating looks pointed at him, but he got the picture. "I imagine she feels like she has to be to get the respect of men."

"But you hate her."

Morgan glanced at him. "I didn't say it worked." Morgan's cell phone, which Freeling had taken to carrying around, began to ring then. The profiler looked the unsub in the eyes. "Showtime."

* * *

><p><em>Exams are over! Booyah! This is going to be another busy week, but I'm working on getting this story finished and the next Addy story is kind of kicking my ass. <em>

_As always, thank you for reading, and thank you everyone who has reviewed!_


	17. Chapter 17

_I'm so sorry guys, I wanted to get this up sooner, but I started a new job and had family in town the last several days. There's only about three more chapters after this one, so I'm going to try and get them up pretty quickly. _

_Thanks for reading, and thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!_

* * *

><p>JJ glanced at Hotch and then Rossi, swallowing down her nerves as she waited for the unsub to pick up. She hated this, this wasn't part of her damn job. She talked to the press, not psychopaths. This was what the rest of the team was trained to do, they all liked the intense pressure and resulting adrenaline spikes. She liked talking to families, putting faces on victims, and she liked liaising with the locals.<p>

"Yeah?"

"Matt Freeling?" She asked.

"Yeah, and according to your agent in here, you're a micromanaging bitch."

Her mouth opened, before she remembered the role she was playing. Rossi gave her a gentle nod. Easy for him. "Well, Agent Morgan has always had trouble keeping his mouth shut and his temper in check. SSA Jennifer Jareau."

"You get along with all your people that well, Ms. Jareau?"

"The ones who respect me," she said.

He cleared his throat. "So, what the hell do you want from me?"

She glanced at Hotch, whose typical severe expression was shifting between her and the diner. "I was about to ask you that, Matt. Tell me what it will take to get you to release those people."

He gave a bitter bark of a laugh. "You can't get me what I want." Than she heard a click. Open-mouth she looked first at Rossi, then Hotch, glancing on briefly at Reid and Emily, before her eyes returned to her bosses'. "Oh god, did I screw up?" She blurted.

"You did fine, JJ," Hotch said.

Rossi offered her a soft smile. "It's okay, it takes time to build report, you did great."

"Well, what do we do now?"

"We wait a little while, and if he doesn't call, we'll call him again. We'll offer him something in return for a few hostages," he said. She nodded, reminding herself to breathe.

"I was thinking about that," Reid said. "If his brother, uh son, is the only thing important to him, we should get him here in case we need to put him on with Matt."

Hotch nodded. "Give him a call and get him here, Reid."

"We still need something to get ears in there," Emily said. She'd disappeared briefly, and scared the hell out of the rest of them. She seemed more focused now than she'd been earlier, in fact, she seemed more like her old self than JJ had seen in a while.

Rossi shrugged at her comment. "Food won't work. Water won't work. They don't need medical supplies, or any basic necessities."

"I've got a couple SWAT guys on the roof trying to get a mic in the vent system. It won't be great sound quality, but it will be better than nothing," Hotch said. "Unless he asks for something, we aren't getting ears in there."

"He said he didn't know what he wanted," Emily commented, though the look in hers eyes suggesting she was working something out in her head. JJ had no idea what.

"You have a thought about that?" Rossi asked, as Reid returned to the group, closing his phone."

"One thought," she said. "His mother."

* * *

><p>"What do you want out of this, Matt?" Morgan asked, still perched on the table. The other hostages huddled together, most trying to disappear, but at the same time, looking at him like he could protect them.<p>

No pressure though.

Freeling was sitting on the counter, legs crossed like a child, looking a little lost-like a child. He shot a look just shy of a glare at Morgan and didn't answer.

"She will call back, and she'll expect an answer, man. That is how this works. You tell them what you want, and they try to make it work in exchange for hostages. You need to know what you want."

"I told you, you can't give me what I want," he growled.

"Then what is your plan here? You take hostages, then you want something, if you don't want anything, you don't need hostages." Morgan tried to keep the annoyance at of his voice, but wasn't exactly succeeding.

Freeling didn't comment, but he was listening.

"Why did you kill those women? Your mother's death should have freed you, not sent you on a killing spree. What happened there?"

"I was a good son," he said.

Morgan nodded, voice soft. "Yeah, I know. You did everything she asked you too, and none of what she did to you was your fault."

"She wanted another baby." His eyes had adopted a slightly glazed, faraway look, like he was seeing the past play out in his head.

"And, you gave her Jacob."

"It was weird...I knew it was wrong, and I was real scared when he was born, but I love him."

"You're allowed to love your child, no matter how he got here," Morgan said.

He turned to Morgan then, a great sadness reflected in his eyes. "But, I left her, and I took him away."

"You were protecting your child. You knew what she'd do to him if you didn't take him."

Freeling suddenly looked angry. "It wasn't her fault. She loved us, she just didn't know how to show it right."

Morgan was about to argue, but then he had a realization and instantly deflated. "And, you loved her too."

* * *

><p>Emily was standing apart from everyone else, again. Though this time she didn't wander off. The looks of barely contained panic on the team's faces when she returned was a reminder that she wasn't the only one coping with the shit-storm Chris left in his wake.<p>

They'd all pretty much resumed what they'd been doing from the last call, JJ not looking any happier to be doing their job. One of the SWAT guys jogged over to where his Commander, Hotch and Reid were gathered, and started talking, hopefully relaying success with the mics. It was dark, already after ten, so they'd set massive flood lights up so everyone could see. The press had formed a wall behind them, some shooting live footage, others taking notes, and still others updating blogs.

"Hey Garcia," Emily answered her ringing phone, teeth already digging into her bottom lip.

"How's my beautiful dark knight?" The Tech's voice wasn't its typical jovial, there was an undercurrent of sober running through it.

"Alright, as far as we know."

"But you're still worried," she said.

Emily sighed. "Of course I'm worried. Matt Freeling is armed, and Morgan likes to play hero."

"That he does. But, we have a pretty good track record when it comes to getting each other out of these situations, and I'm just going to be thinking about that." Garcia, ever the optimist.

"You know how fucked-up it is that we actually have a track record?" Good or bad, they really shouldn't have a history of having guns to their heads.

"Preaching to the choir on that one, cupcake. You know how many times I've wished you all had safer jobs? That the majority of the people I love didn't run toward the gunshots? But, then I know if you had different jobs, you guys wouldn't be you guys, and I wouldn't love you all so much. You are my brave, brave crime-fighters, and I know you'll keep each other safe as much as possible...so I trust in that, and help where I can." She inhaled then. "So, how can I help?"

"Have you found anything on the list of names we gave you?" It was the names of all the hostages, obtained from license plate numbers, and the freed children.

"Yes and no. There are no criminal records in there, just some speeding tickets. Everyone seems to be what they appear to be, the employees of the diner, two truckers, the young couple without kids are a janitor and a receptionist, the one with kids are bother teachers, the older couple is retired, and this may complicate things, the older gentlemen is a retired Marine. He might try to help, and noble as that is, I know it tends to make your lives more difficult."

"Well Morgan's there, so maybe this guy will let him handle things...what about the other two?" She had yanked out of notepad, and was cradling the phone between her cheek and neck as she scribbled.

"Uh, well I ran that last plate, and he is a mechanic. I called his employer, and his dinner buddy is also a mechanic. They were working late to finish repairs for a client, left to get dinner together, and never came back. Chuck, he's the one with the car, he has a wife and kids, and Jay has a girlfriend that he lives with. He says they're good guys, and not hotheads, so there's some good news."

She released a breath. "That's great. Thank you, Garcia."

"No problem…" she said, trailing off. "Hey Em, will you do something for me?"

"Of course, what do you need?" She directed her attention back on Garcia from the scene.

"When you guys get Derek out of there, give him a big hug for me." She continued on before Emily could object. "I know he's a big tough guy, and will insist that he's fine, but even Superman gets shaken and needs a hug occasionally. And, since I can't give it to him, I need you to do it for me. Alright?"

"O-okay, sure..." Movement in her peripheral vision cause her to look up, Reid was jogging toward her. "Something is going on, I need to go, Garcia." She hung up and focused on Reid.

He stopped in front of her. "The unsub is on the phone."

* * *

><p>"I'm going to release a few hostages," Freeling announced. JJ glanced at Rossi quickly, surprised and completely unsure of what to do. "And, you have to give me something, that's how this works, right?"<p>

Rossi nodded. JJ cleared her throat. "Yes Matt, that's how this works. What do you need?"

"Get my brother, Jacob over here. I need to talk to Jacob."

"Okay," she said. "We can do that, but I'll need half of those hostages, that's eight people." Rossi nodded again and gave her an encouraging smile.

"I can do that. But, not Agent Morgan, he stays with me for now."

"I would have asked for the civilians first anyway," she said. "You'll have to release them now, and we'll get your brother over here to talk to you."

There was silence a minute, and JJ felt her stomach twisting itself violently in knots, turning over and causing her to struggle to contain her desire to walk away and vomit.

Finally, she heard a sigh. "Alright. I'll release eight of these people now, but Agent Jareau, if you break your word and I don't get to speak to Jacob, I will execute one of these hostages. We understand each other?"

"We do. Some of my people will have to get near the diner to collect the hostages, but they won't try to come in, and they'll back away again when they're done," she said.

"Alright." The voice on the other side went muffled, and impossible to understand for a few minutes. Then people came running out of the diner, the two truckers, two mechanics, the couple without children, the cook, and one of the waitresses.

"Thank you, Matt," she said.

"Get my brother here." Then he hung up.

He still had two waitresses, the couple with children, the older couple, and Morgan, but seven down from fifteen wasn't bad for her first time negotiating. Of course, JJ still felt like she might vomit.

Rossi gave her hand a squeeze, and followed Reid and Emily to debrief the hostages. Hotch stayed behind, looking from the diner doors, to her, studying her like a profiler, deciphering her behavior. "I know you're uncomfortable with this, and it isn't really in your purview, but you're handling yourself very well, JJ."

She shook her head, and suddenly bent at the waist and blew slowly out of her mouth. "I think I might actually get sick...how do you guys do this, Hotch?"

"We're trained," he said simply, resting a hand on her back hesitantly. Not what she wanted to hear right then. She wanted some super special secret that would make it all feel less terrifying.


	18. Chapter 18

_So, I just quit the job I just got (yeah, it's awesome), which means I'm unemployed again, and will probably have more time to work on this, and I'm hoping the get the last two chapters of this up by next week. _

_I keep forgetting to say, thank you everyone who responded to the poll in my profile, I get to happily junk a few ideas now. Also, thank you so much to those who nominated my stories (including this one) for the Profiler's Choice Awards. That made my day. :)_

_Thank you as always for reading and reviewing!_

* * *

><p>"JJ?" Emily gently said her friend's name. At the moment the blond was looking a little pale and flipping rapidly through files. "Are you okay?"<p>

She whipped around to face Emily. "No."

"O-okay…" She was a little taken aback by that admission. "Is there anything I can do?"

JJ inhaled and finally blurted out, "This is not part of my job description."

"Yeah, I know, but you're handling it fine." She wasn't used to JJ being a little unhinged, or maybe more correctly, pissed.

"I can't do this, Emily. I don't know how to do this. I didn't have the same training you guys did, I don't know how to talk an unsub out of mass murder!"

"Okay, okay," Emily said, glancing at the locals shooing them looks, "why don't we step away for a minute, okay?"

JJ followed her eyes to their skeptical audience, huffed and marched outside. They walked to a semi-secluded area away from the hustle and bustle of cops and the zoo of local media gathered around the blockade. Once again JJ faced her, arms crossed, blue eyes glassy and shooting around rapidly. "This…this is not what I do, Em. This is your sort of thing."

"_My_ sort of thing?"

"Yeah, you're the badass between us. I run interference with the locals, the families and the media, and you…you get up close and personal with the unsubs. Not me. I can kick down a door and march in with my gun drawn, but," she shook her head, "I do not do this, I do not get into their heads, I do NOT negotiate."

Emily gently rubbed her shoulder, and took a deep breath. "Alright, I get that there's hostages and that's putting a lot of pressure on you, but you've got to think of it like any other thing we do."

"It isn't _like_ every other thing we do. There are seven people's lives hanging on the words coming out of my mouth. If I say the wrong thing, the unsub kills one of them. If I say the wrong thing he could kill Morgan. And, I can't have his death on my head. And you…" JJ cut herself off, shaking her head, and sniffling.

"And, me what?"

"It's nothing."

Emily watched the blond avoid all eye contact. "No, it's definitely something, Jayje."

JJ wiped at the moisture in her eyes, and stubbornly kept her face turned away.

"JJ, come on, talk to me."

Finally she turned, and their eyes met. "And, if Morgan gets killed in there today, I'm afraid you'll go off into a tailspin, and we'll lose you both."

Emily's mouth fell open. Her earlier breakdown was coming back to haunt them both. No wonder JJ was freaking out, she was stressing over the lives of six strangers, the life of one friend, and the sanity of another friend.

Emily inhaled and it sounded more like a hiss. "JJ, you can't be thinking about that right now."

She snorted. "How do I not?"

"You just can't. You have to put that away somewhere in your head, and think only about those hostages. You shouldn't even be thinking about losing Morgan. You have hostages and an unsub, that's it."

"I don't know how to do that, Emily. I can't compartmentalize like you do. If I could, I wouldn't be freaking out, right now."

"Yes, you can. I saw you do it today. You slipped on a persona, and you talked to Matt Freeling like you are the boss out here. If you need to, just keep your cover up until we're done here."

JJ was silent for several seconds contemplating that. "Keep my cover up…"

"Yes. For the next several hours you have to be someone else."

"The boss."

Emily nodded. "Thanks to Morgan. You can kick his ass after you save it."

JJ shot her a look. "Oh, you better believe it."

"So, you're keeping your cover up," she reminded.

The liaison nodded. "Okay, I think I can do that."

Emily nodded, relieved. "Yes, you can."

"I'm completely unqualified to be doing this, and your…whatever the hell you two are, is in there, that doesn't worry you at all?"

She smiled. "Nope. I trust you completely."

Emily was caught slightly off-guard when JJ grabbed her and hugged her tightly. When JJ pulled away, she looked at her, and said simply, "Thank you."

Then she marched back to the command tent.

* * *

><p>"This is good, Matt. You've bought yourself a lot of goodwill here," Morgan said. Matt was still perched on the counter, hands hanging uselessly in front of him.<p>

He glanced Morgan's way, but didn't comment.

"Do you have a plan for after you talk to your brother? You still have seven people here that my boss will want to get out."

"Don't you ever shut up, man?"

He shrugged. "I'm just doing my job."

"You're a hostage, your job right now is to shut your mouth and let me think."

"Hostage or not, I'm still an FBI agent, and my job will always been to protect these people, and help you get what you want," he said."

"That's very PC."

Morgan cleared his throat. "You know, we profiled you as timid. Introverted, submissive, and timid. I've been wondering if we were wrong, but I don't think we were. You're assertive at this moment, to us, but I don't think you ever could be to your mother. You never told anyone what she did to you, did you? And, you never told her how much you hated her for it, and now she's dead and you can't, and that's what's ripping you apart."

"It wasn't her fault!" Matt yelled, turning full to face Morgan.

"Your grandfather, he tried to protect you, didn't he? Then he died, and your mother was allowed to do to you whatever she wanted."

The unsub froze, face twisting to confusion before he barked a laugh. "You think that scumbag protected me? How do you think I got here?"

Morgan's mouth fell open. "Your grandfather raped your mother?"

"For all eleven years of my life before he died, I don't know when it started." He looked at the floor.

"That's why you say it isn't her fault, because that's how she was taught to treat you."

He snorted again. "I say it's not her fault, because the old bastard made us...he made us...that's why she started. After he died, she asked for Jacob, for a part of our family that wouldn't be ruined by him, wouldn't know him. It didn't fix her though, she drank and she hit him, and one day she touched him, and I almost killed her for it. Then she was all alone and she drank even more."

"Then what's this about, Matt?" He asked softly. "Why did you feel compelled to attack those women?"

"If I hadn't left her all alone, she'd still be alive."

Morgan released the breath he'd been holding. "So you try to reenact what you had with her, and you know it's wrong, and it doesn't work anyway, and it leaves you so angry you have to hit something, so you hurt the pets." He studied the other man, neither moving. "You want to tell her that you're sorry."

Matt didn't respond, just turned away.

* * *

><p>They exchanged looks, JJ with a hand over her mouth, everyone else looking stone-faced. They'd gotten the microphone working well enough to give them an audio feed into the diner. It was slightly garbled and required complete attention to understand, but not one of them missed the bulk of the exchange.<p>

"So George Freeling and his wife have a daughter, Samantha, the wife dies, and he starts sexually abusing her," Reid said, thinking aloud. "Samatha gives birth to her father's son, Matthew, and she sexually abuses him. Matthew, George's son and grandson, gets Samantha pregnant at her request, and they have a son, Jacob, who is George's grandson, twice-over and great-grandson, and son, grandson, and nephew to Samantha, and son, brother and nephew to Matthew...it sounds like something out of a Greek tragedy."

"Emphasis on the tragedy part," Rossi commented. Emily just felt kind of sick. It was bad enough, this just made it worse.

"Agent Prentiss," she turned to see Jacob and Kirsten approaching. "They said Matt is in there?"

"I'm afraid so," she said. "He's asked to speak with you, are you okay with that?"

He shrugged. "Sure...it's true he has hostages?"

"Seven left, he already released most of them."

"What does he want?"

Emily inhaled and looked sadly at the young man. "So far, all he's said is you."

"Alright," he started then frowned as his eyes traveled over the group. "Where's Agent Morgan?"

"He was in the diner when your brother took it hostage," she said.

"Oh...uh, does someone have a phone?"

"Agent Jareau will make the call," Emily said, pointing the blonde out. "When she's ready, she'll hand the you the phone, okay?"

He nodded, and Rossi spoke quickly and quietly to JJ, before squeezing her shoulder, and offer his umpteenth encouraging smile of the day. Emily was pretty sure they weren't helping much, though the blond looked a bit better since their brief pep-talk. The Liaison picked up the phone, and they could all hear the ringing through the rigged speakers.

"You have Jacob?" His voice demanded back in surround sound. The field technician shot them an apologetic look, and fixed the sound, trading the speaker of audio feed inside to headphones, which he handed to Hotch and Rossi. They listened to both, keeping an ear on each.

"Yes, he's right here, but before I put him on, I need some idea of your game plan," JJ said.

"I told you if you didn't let me talk to Jake that I'd start shooting, and I'm not screwing around, Agent Jareau. I may even start with your agent in here," Matthew seethed on the other end of the line. Emily's heart jumped into her throat.

"Alright, calm down. You will get to talk to you brother, but I have to know where we're going from here. How am I getting the rest of those hostages out?" She asked, shooting desperate looks at Rossi.

He signaled that she was doing fine.

"In fucking body bags if you don't put Jake on the line."

"Tell me what else you want, Matt. We'll work on that while you're on with Jacob, okay?"

There was a long sigh on the other end. "I get my time with Jake, and I'll surrender, good enough?"

"Y-yes,.." she stuttered surprised. "I'll get, Jacob." JJ closed her eyes, and seemed to take a minute to collect herself.

"He's right, you are a micromanaging bitch," Matt said.

She didn't even react, just held the phone out to Jake. He looked toward Emily, the only one of them he was familiar with, and she nodded to him to take it. He grasped it in unsure hands. "Hi Matt."

Something like a sob came through. "I was sure she was lying, Jakey."

"No, I'm here...Matt, what the hell are you doing?"

"I need to tell you some things, Jake. I need you to listen."

Jake grabbed Kirsten's hand, holding it tightly. "You couldn't have just called me?"

"I ran out of time. But, just listen, okay?"

"Alright, I'll listen," he said.

"You're going to hear a lot of bad things about me, about Samantha, and a lot of it is true. I attacked those women, Jakey. I'm so sorry, I…" His voice cracked, and he sniffled. "It wasn't her fault, Mom, what she did to us, you have to know that. It was all his fault, your grandfather, he was dead before you were born. Sam, Mom, she wanted you to be what neither of us could be, good and clean and perfect. You are, Jakey, and you and Kirsten are going to have that baby, and you have to promise me something, alright, you need to promise me, Jakey."

"Why does this sound like a death speech, Matt?"

"Don't worry about that. You just need to promise me, you have to Jakey."

The young man nodded, inhaled past the emotion in his throat. "Yeah, okay. Tell me what, and I'll promise."

Matt sniffled, his voice high and full of emotion. "You promise me that you'll spend every day you've got loving and protecting that kid. You never raise a hand to it, never hurt it, you teach it to go to college like we never did, okay?"

"I promise, Matt. I'll take care of my baby." His eyes glistened with moisture, and Kirsten moved closer, pressing the length of her body against his.

"Jakey?"

"Yeah?"

"When they tell you, don't hate me, okay? All I ever wanted to do was protect you, I promised you I would the day you were born. I'm sorry I didn't do such a good job."

"You did great, Matt."

There was the rumble of a throat clearing. "I love you, Jakey."

The line died, and a pale, and stunned Jake was left holding the phone, and looking to them for guidance. "What's going on? What are you supposed to tell me?"

_"Hey__ man,__what __are __you __doing?"_The tech people switched the speakers back to playing the audio feed, and Morgan's voice grabbed their attention.

_"Matt, __what__ are__ you...no!__ No, __no! __Stop, __put __the __gun __down __man, __you __do __not __need __to __do __this!"_

Emily's heart was pounding so fast, she jumped at the sharp crack of gunfire, both from the speaker and within the diner. Without missing a beat, all five of them grabbed their weapons and ran for the diner. She felt sick.


	19. Chapter 19

Morgan stared across the room, behind the lunch counter where Matt Freeling had been a moment ago. Blood had sprayed on the yellow formica counter and cash register, and he'd fallen to the floor. Suicide. He'd half expected it from the conversation he'd had with Jacob, but part of him had been believing in a bloodless surrender.

Clanging and shouts directed his attention to the door where the hostages were running out, straight into the team coming in with guns drawn. Morgan met Hotch's eyes. "He's down, behind the counter."

Reid and some SWAT guys gently ushered the hostages out, as Rossi and Emily tried to prevent Jake Freeling from coming in. Kirsten was behind him, already crying, and half clinging to Jake. Rossi said something Morgan couldn't hear and the young man's body deflated. He nodded, wrapped his arms around Kirsten, and walked away with a local cop.

Hotch was already behind the counter, bending down barely minutes to conclude the unsub was definitely dead. Part of his head was surely missing.

"We need CSU and the local ME in here," Hotch commented. "And, we need to debrief the hostages."

"Reid and I will handle the hostages. Prentiss, you seem to have a report with Jacob Freeling, you want to handle him?" Rossi asked.

She nodded. "Do I tell him everything?"

"He'll hear it on the news even if you don't," he said.

"Yeah, I figured..." She sighed then, her loathing for the press leaking through her best efforts at stone face.

Emily looked at him then, meeting his eyes, and to his surprise walking over to him. Then to everyone's surprise, she leaned in and hugged him, and Morgan had to resist the urge to just bury himself in her. When she left go, she offered him what wasn't quite a smile. "That's from Garcia."

Oh, now that made more sense. Emily wasn't really into PDA, but Garcia was as affectionate and demonstrative as a puppy. He gave her hand a little squeeze in response. She then walked back to the door, exiting with Rossi and Reid behind her.

Morgan noted then that JJ hadn't made a move from the door, or uttered a peep. She just stood there, gaze focused unwaveringly on the counter, and looking rather queasy. "JJ," he called.

She quickly looked toward him, with the eyes wide, startled from her thoughts. She released a breath. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "But, I was about to ask you that. You look sick."

"He killed himself."

"Yes, he did. He was messed up, this was his way out." If only he could make his own head believe that.

"He said he was going to surrender." Her voice was heavy, her eyes filled with confusion and vulnerability.

"He did, JJ. Just not to the FBI."

"That's it?" She asked.

Morgan simply shrugged. Yeah, that was it.

* * *

><p>JJ breathed deeply, closing her eyes and preparing herself to do what she was accustomed to doing: talking to the press. That was her forte, and she was damn glad to be back to it. She held the folded paper in her hands, a little more nervous than usual because of it. Emily had insisted she was sure, and thanked her for handling it.<p>

It was barely morning, the sky still a deep turquoise, slowly growing lighter as the sunlight crept in. The police station was surprisingly quiet, and there wasn't much of a rumble outside either. None of them had slept yet, and it was already five. There were hostages to debrief, statements to get, reports to write, crime scenes to oversee, they hadn't had a chance to head over to the hotel yet. And, apparently the reporters that flocked to Ryeburg were nocturnal, because they'd never left, and showed no signs of the wear that JJ could see on her team through the police department window.

Finally, she breathed and headed out to the crowd. They immediately quieted down, instantly attuned to her every breath, every movement.

"Good Morning," she began. "I'm very happy to report that we've apprehended the man responsible for raping five women in this town. As you all know by now, Matthew Freeling committed suicide after a three-hour standoff with local police and the BAU at the Five Star Diner. No one inside the diner was harmed, except for Freeling. All of the hostages are safe at home right now with their families. We will not be releasing their names. It is true one of our agents was inside the diner when Freeling took it hostage, he is unharmed as well. I'm also happy to be able to say that Freeling's last victim has regained consciousness. Speaking and moving are still difficult for her, but she recognized her mother and father, and her doctors are optimistic. I'll take a few questions on that now."

"Yes, Agent Jareau, is it true Freeling was a product of incest, and was abused by both his mother and father?" A reporter with a microphone asked.

"Yes, to my knowledge, that's true." If only they could all be that easy, she thought.

"Newsweek has been told that Freeling's brother has already been approached by two publishers about Matthew's story, can you confirm that?"

She shrugged. "I can't confirm that, I'm not privy to that information."

"Agent Jareau, is it true one of the women Freeling raped is currently institutionalized?"

"That isn't my business to discuss," she said, trying to keep her body from instantly tensing.

"Yes, thank you, Agent. The last segment of the special on Agent Prentiss ran tonight, and the Bureau still hasn't issued a statement, does your team have one?" A woman asked, digital tape recorder pointed at her.

"No, we do not have a statement." She rubbed her fingers over the paper as the gates seemed to break and the questions about Emily began flying. The profiler had said as much would happen, and JJ had enough experience to know to expect it. "If you'll all quiet down, I do have a statement from Agent Prentiss that I'd like to read."

And, just like that there was silence, and something akin to shock on their faces.

JJ unfolded the paper to see several lines of her friend's less than graceful handwriting. She took a breath. "I would like to thank all the people who have written me letters and cards. Your kind words have been a great source of comfort over the last several weeks, and your support and encouragement have given me strength. As for everything else-the TV special, George Liberman and Christ Bennett-I have only a few comments. Chris Bennett is dead, George Liberman is in jail, and the TV special is an invasion of my privacy. I'm trying to move on with my life, and that's already difficult enough without the constant attention of the world. I would like nothing more than to be left alone, to cope with the support of my family. Please respect that."

She released her breath and looked up. "With Agent Prentiss's wishes in mind, I will not be taking any questions about her or her ordeal. Thank you all for coming."

* * *

><p>Emily paced around her room, phone in hand, teeth digging into her bottom lip. Two hours ago, she'd given JJ her statement to the press, and hidden with the rest of the team in the station. They'd gone out through the back afterward and escaped the circus. Hotch was giving them all a little while to sleep before hopping on the plane. She hadn't slept. She was thinking about Matthew Freeling and Calley Dreyfus; she was thinking about how easy it was to disappear into the misery.<p>

She wanted to call, and at the same time really, didn't want to call. It would be admitting weakness, admitting that she couldn't handle the mess Chris made of her head. Part of her knew she needed to do it, that it would help her put the whole thing in the past. Because what she feared more than facing what happened was the consequences of never facing it.

Chewing on her lip, she finally stopped pacing, and carefully dialed the number from the business card. The one written on the back in pen for her direct line.

"Dr. Thigotee." She sounded busy, even tired.

"It's Emily Prentiss."

"Emily, good to hear from you," she was instantly engaged. "I've caught some of the press coverage, I'll admit I was a little worried."

"Yeah, it's been...challenging." She sunk onto the bed she hadn't slept in once.

"Are you okay?"

"More or less. I...I think I need to talk, but I'm not really any good at this, I don't really know how."

"Are you heading back today? I could schedule you in this afternoon-"

"Uh, do you have time now? I just...I don't want to lose my nerve." She bit deeply into her lip, and clutched one hand in a fist. Why was this so damn hard?

"Sure, it's still early, I have about thirty minutes. We can start now, and schedule an appointment to continue, alright?" Her voice was open and kind, and she was being very accommodating, and yet Emily still wanted to jump out of her skin.

"That sounds good."

"Okay, then how about you start us off, what's on your mind?"

She took several deep breaths, trying to search her mind for what she needed to say. There was so much eating at her, and none of it that she wanted to say aloud. Finally voice shaking, she managed to speak. "I can barely be naked long enough to take a shower." She inhaled. "I feel too vulnerable, like he's going to walk into the bathroom any minute, and grab me, and..." Emily swallowed past the sob in her throat, her eyes burning with moisture. "I know he's dead, I saw it, and I know how to defend myself, I carry a gun around for christssake, but none of it seems to matter."

The doctor was quiet for a moment. "Emily, can I ask you to do something?"

"I guess, sure."

"I want you to tell me about one of the times Chris Bennett raped you, I want you to tell me what you were feeling," she said.

It was Emily's turn to go silent. Then she inhaled, adopting the same detached demeanor she'd used while talking to the ER doctors and giving JJ her statement. "The second night at the cabin, we put the kids to bed, and then he nudged me with the gun, and fastened the cuffs to the headboard. He-"

"No," Thigotee interrupted. "No, I don't want you to tell me what _he__did_, Emily. I want to know how _you_ _felt_."

"O-okay." Emily inhaled, trying not to think too much about it as she focused on the same night. "I knew what was coming, and I tried to stop feeling anything. I'm usually very good at that, I can turn everything off, almost go emotionally numb. But, I couldn't with Chris, not completely anyway. I'd try to go somewhere else in my head, think of the team, the cat I had when I was eight, anything, but nothing really took me away. The feel of his hands, his lips on my skin would bring me right back. I figured it wouldn't be as bad after the first time, the first time you cross this boundary, once someone has forced himself into your body, you can't go back, it's with you forever. I figured every time after it would be more of the same, but each time is just as hard as the first."

She stopped to sniffle and wipe her eyes. "I felt helpless, and I felt scared, and I just wanted to scream and scream, but I would have woken Kyle, and he'd have come running, and I didn't want him to watch his father rape someone. I didn't want to add to his trauma, so I kept quiet. But, there was this panicked screaming in my head, this voice telling me not to let it happen...as if I could stop it. And, I felt so trapped. I couldn't move, I couldn't stop him, I just had to lay there and let him push himself inside me." Emily inhaled, wiping her face again. "And that night, it was when I started to lose hope. I knew the team was looking for me, I knew they wouldn't stop, but I realized that night, that they may not make it in time. So, when he took my underwear off, I had this horrible burning feeling in my stomach. He was going to keep raping me until he finally killed me."

There was a beat of silence until the psychologist spoke. "But, you didn't die, Emily. You saved yourself. You are a strong woman, and you can work your way through this, there is hope. He may never be completely out of your head, but there is a day where you'll wake up, and the first thing you think of won't be if Chris is still in the room with you."

Emily nodded, wiping off her cheeks. "Yeah, but I can I last until then?"

* * *

><p>Morgan stood outside her hotel room, knowing that this might be a bad idea with Hotch right next door, but frankly, he needed her. This time it wasn't about comforting her, or at least only comforting her, this time he needed to hold her and breathe in her scent. He needed to feel human and whole, because after watching a man take his own life, he just felt numb. Like the world just didn't make sense anymore.<p>

Emily made sense.

What he felt for her didn't always, as he'd demonstrated spectacularly in his phone conversation with Garcia, but, the way she offered him a soft smile and gently squeezed his hand when he was having a rough time, that made sense. Same with the way the world seemed to slow down when he was near her, and give him a chance to catch his breath and screw his head back on. Though frankly, lately she'd been the reason it was coming screwed off in the first place.

"Hey," she said, opening the door. He frowned at her red, puffy eyes.

"What happened?"

Her eyebrows shot up, then she glanced down either stretch of hallway, and motioned him inside. She flipped the lock on the door, and moved into the room, biting her bottom lip.

"What happened," he repeated.

"I was just, um, talking to Dr. Thigotee." She kept her eyes anywhere but on his face. The unshakable Emily Prentiss was embarrassed that she needed a shrink.

"Yeah? How'd it go?"

Emily shrugged. "Fine, I guess…are you okay?" She finally met his eyes.

Morgan went to shrug, but stopped mid shoulder raise, and shook his head instead. "No."

A wave of sympathy swept into her eyes, and she raised a hand to gently stroke his cheek. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that."

Morgan put his arms around her waist, pulled her close and then loosened his grip so she didn't feel suffocated. Then he leaned his forehead against hers. He was relieved when she didn't tense up, move or start to tremble. "I was a hostage for three hours, that's beans compared to your week."

"You also watched a man splatter his brains all over a diner. And, it doesn't matter if it was an hour or a month, it still sucks. Though frankly, I'm glad it wasn't worse."

He nodded. "I just wish we could have helped him."

"I know. He had a horrible and traumatizing upbringing, and I wish something had been done when he was a kid. But Derek, he also nearly beat Caroline George to death, put Calley Dreyfus in a psych hospital, and forever scarred Majorie Hansen, Becky Lawson and Stephanie Taylor. Don't forget that, or them."

He nodded and released a breath. "I know, I know it."

Both of her hands stroking his cheeks, so gently he couldn't help but lean into her touch. "Today we stopped another woman from being tied to her bed, raped and beaten. We did good. _You_ did good."

"How much time do we have before we have to be on the jet?"

She glanced away at the bedside clock. "About an hour."

"Catnap?"

She smiled. "Yeah, that sounds nice." She moved and took his hand, pulling him toward the bed.

"You got a deck of cards in your go-bag?" He asked.

Emily looked at him and frowned. "Yeah, I always keep one in there…why?"

"Anyone asks, that's what I'm doing in here."

She smirked, and flopped onto the bed. "An alibi, nice."

He grinned, and hopped in beside her, getting comfortable, and allowing Emily to decide how close she wanted to be. To his delight, she shimmed close and snuggled up against him.

"Try not to think about the Freeling brothers when you close your eyes," she whispered.

"I could say the same to you."

She snorted. "That's where my demon lives, right behind my eyelids."

* * *

><p><em>One more chapter and this baby's done! Thanks for reading and please review!<em>


	20. Chapter 20

This case had been one of the most miserable in recent years, Hotch was sure of that. The sight of two-thirds of his team already sleeping told him that and then something. Dave was the only other one awake, flipping through what seemed to be a small volume on Scilian cooking. He could almost picture the shopping list of David Rossi, how specific and detailed it would be for a man who was very picky with his ingredients. Hotch grimaced, no profiling teammates, but more often than not it was accidental, rather than intentional.

He let his eyes wander, noting Reid curled up in the fetal position on one of the sofas, and JJ across from him at a table, head titled back, eyes closed, but cell phone placed in front of her, just in case. And then he landed on an image that made him freeze. Morgan and Prentiss were next to each other, both asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. A few months ago he wouldn't have worried; he have expected when they woke up Morgan would make some inappropriate, teasing comment, and Prentiss would have grumbled some snappy comeback.

He wasn't betting on that scenario now.

"What has you so focused, Aaron?"

His head snapped back to look at Rossi, who had closed his book. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"If I conk-out now, I'll be too bleary-eyed to drive home, and I want to see my bed very badly." Hotch almost smirked. "Why aren't you?" The older man asked.

"I have reports to finish if I want to see my son tonight."

"How is Jack?"

Hotch nodded. "Mostly he's fine, but some days he barely speaks and eats because he wants his mother."

"Children are resilient, he'll get through it."

"I know, I just wish he didn't have to." He could protect his son from the monsters of the world, but not from the agony of grief.

Dave smiled. "You're his father, it's in the job description to feel guilty for not being able to shield him from every ounce of pain the world has to throw at him."

Hotch nodded, and inhaled tiredly. Sensing the exhaustion the topic left him with, Dave was quick to change it. "I called Garcia earlier, got a rundown on the last part of that damn TV special."

"Oh? Anything I should be aware of?"

"The bastards were outside her building. When they discussed us finally catching him there, they had shots of her building, and they pointed out which apartment is hers. Though, I suppose we should be grateful they didn't give an address. Otherwise, it was fairly tame. Garcia said it was more of the same crap, actually ended with that reporter talking about this past case, and that lunatic that broke into her room. And, Garcia did say they were fairly clear about labeling her a hero, which Prentiss won't care about, but the brass will love it."

"Good, maybe they'll leave us all alone."

Dave nodded, and sighed. "So, you want to tell me what among our young colleagues has you frowning so deeply?"

He nodded in the direction, motioning the other man to look for himself. Rossi turned, studied their four younger teammates, and turned back, smirk saying he knew exactly what was bothering Hotch. "I gather it's not JJ's unnatural attachment to her cell phone that's troubling you. Send that woman on a vacation when we get back, a real one, where you steal that damn phone."

Hotch almost smiled. "That's a good idea."

"So...that may just have been accidental, Aaron. We're all tired, and I don't think it's the first time."

"It probably is accidental," he said. And, it certainly wasn't the first time someone had fallen asleep with their head on someone else's shoulder.

"But, it still bothers you."

He cleared his throat. "The room Prentiss was moved to after Liberman broke into hers was next to mine. I heard the door open and close after everyone had settled in both nights. And, in the morning, I heard it again."

"So, you think she was sneaking into his room, or he was sneaking into hers?" Dave chuckled. "Sounds like the teenage counselors at summer camp."

Hotch scowled. "It's not funny."

"I can't imagine they were having sex, not the last couple days."

"I didn't think they were. That isn't the point. They've become very emotionally attached to each other, and that's dangerous in the field."

Rossi seemed to consider that, his head bobbing from one side to the other. "I haven't seen anything the last couple days to suggests their ability to do their jobs has been compromised. Have you?"

"You can't tell me you haven't seen it," Hotch said.

"I didn't say I haven't noticed their relationship. I'm pretty sure even Reid noticed, but what I haven't seen is their objectivity compromised."

He frowned. "You're telling me I should continue to ignore this until one of them does something to suggest they're a liability to each other in the field?"

Dave smiled, that infuriating grin of his. "I'm not the boss, that's your call, but I don't know that it would be fair to call them out when they're being professional."

"You think sneaking into each other's hotel rooms is professional?"

He gave a long sigh. "You can bring Morgan and Emily into your office and reprimand them for their behavior, and direct them to end whatever is going on, but honestly, Aaron? I'm a little afraid of the result of that."

"What do you mean?" That would certainly be one of the most awkward conversations he'd ever had in his office.

"The damage is done. Whatever they feel for each other isn't going to go away," he said and held up a hand when Hotch went to speak. "Say you have that conversation with them, they'll agree to put an end to their relationship, they value the team too much to take the risk. At minimum you'll lose their trust. Best case scenario, they stop socializing, keep their distance, tap dance around each other, and screw-up the team dynamic, until either it blows up in all of our faces, or one of the puts in a transfer request. Worst case, Emily loses her greatest source of support, and her mental stability starts to deteriorate."

"You think she's in that bad of shape?"

Rossi offered an uncommitted shrug. "She appears to be coping alright, but Aaron, after this week, she'd have to be superhuman to not be a complete mess under the surface."

Hotch smirked. "Believe it or not, I've entertained that thought on occasion."

"What? That she's superhuman?" He nodded. Dave glanced at her and smiled. "If there ever was a woman…"

Hotch smiled dropped and he sighed. "If I let them continue on like this, eventually one of them will need to be transferred anyway," he said. _That_ was a strange thought, the two of them deciding to settle down together.

"Yeah, but it will be a while before they get to that point. And, in the meantime, you get to keep a high-functioning team full of agents who trust you." Dave sighed again. "But, like I said, you're the boss, your decision."

Hotch scowled and let his head fall back against the seat. Why wasn't this scenario in any of the dozen leadership training seminars the Bureau forced him to attend? Of course, the Bureau would probably go with a no tolerance policy, reprimand them, separate them, and put a note in their files. Dave went back to reading his book, and Hotch was left silently cursing Morgan and Prentiss for putting him in such a position. Not that they planned on it, but...

He let his eyes wander over to them, and noted they were both awake now. Prentiss was pale, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, and Morgan was completely focused on her, one hand on her shoulder, whispering as she nodded her head. It could easily be seen as a friend comforting a friend.

Yeah, he'd just keep telling himself that.

* * *

><p>"What did she tell you abut this couple?" Emily asked as they drove the familiar route to their house. The house they'd been working on the day they got called to a case in Albany, NY; the case that irrevocably changed her life. Morgan's too.<p>

"They're moving from Philadelphia, both college professors, young, with two small kids. They want to buy, but they want a walk-through with the owner first," he explained.

They'd finished the house two weeks ago (largely because not working, Emily had a lot of time to fill), and Morgan snagged a realtor to deal with the listing. That was the end he didn't like, he'd explained to her once. He wasn't much of a salesman, and didn't want to be bothered with it anyway. The realtor, Jackie, showed the house to several couples, and the people they were about to meet had apparently fallen in love with it.

There were already two sedans in the driveway, so Morgan parked his car along the street. This neighborhood was purely residential, and most people had their own driveways, so parking on the street wasn't too hard to come by. It was a different story in a lot of other places in DC. Emily followed him as they walked toward the house, passing the still healthy-looking lawn. It was only a smidge of lawn, but that's what you get in the city. There was a backyard as well, so it was actually a very nice place.

They were met by a slim redhead, who smiled and took Morgan's hand. "Derek, good to see you again. Is this Mrs. Morgan?"

She fought not to snort, and settled on a smirk. Morgan chuckled. "No," he said. "This is Emily, I told you she helped me fix up this house."

"Oh yes, of course. It's nice to meet you Emily."

"Likewise." Emily took her offered hand, and then they followed her up to the front door, where a young black couple was waiting. A little girl with braided pigtails was teasing a toddler boy, both kids giggling with glee.

"Anthony, Kara, this is the owner Derek Morgan, and Emily..." She glanced at her.

"Prentiss," she filled in. "I helped Derek with some of the repairs."

"It's nice to meet you both," Kara said.

"Yes, this is a beautiful house," Anthony commented, both of them exchanging handshakes with Emily and Morgan.

"How about we get this started then?" Morgan asked.

Jackie nodded, and opened the door, leading the way inside. Emily was surprised when Morgan took her hand, but made no move to get loose. They spent the next half an hour walking through the house with the young couple, answering their questions, and watching their kids run around and giggle. They seemed like a very nice couple, who were genuinely interested in the house, what had been repaired or replaced, and what kind of upkeep it would require. And, Morgan was as comfortable discussing the small dwelling as he was giving a profile.

It was kind of cute to watch him speak quite eagerly about the fireplace they'd fixed, the new, cherry finish on the back deck, the joined dining and living room, and everything else they'd done. Emily found herself smiling as they walked through, feeling relaxed for the first time in almost two months.

"So, it's not huge, but for the DC area, you couldn't do much better," he said. They ended the tour on the back deck, the kids already making for the grass, the little boy gingerly working his way down the steps, laughing at his sister doing cartwheels in the grass.

"Well, the kids seem to love it," Kara said, glancing at her children.

Anthony looked over. "They don't have to worry about paying the mortgage."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Give us a minute, would you?"

Morgan nodded, then turned to the realtor. "This is in their price range isn't it?"

"It's on the high end. At least, from what they told me." She shrugged.

"I thought you said they were college professors?" He frowned deeply.

"They are, but she's only been an adjunct because of the kids, and he started at a state school, so they aren't highly paid college professors."

He seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment, and she followed where his gaze drifted to the kids playing on the grass. The girl was running slowly, letting her little brother get close to catching her, and when he finally did they both collapsed on the ground, belly laughs filling the quiet of the early evening. He turned back to Jackie. "Drop it to 225, see if that will help make up their minds."

"Are you sure? With all the work you put it, 250 is still a good price for this neighborhood." She looked dubious.

He nodded. "And, for what I paid, 225 will still be a damn good profit."

She sighed, and walked over to the couple. Emily gently tugged on his hand. "She's right, this house in this neighborhood at the that price is a steal."

"You know I don't do this for the money," he said teasingly.

She smiled. "How much did you buy this place for anyway?"

"Since it was falling apart, it was only 150."

Her eyebrows rose at that. "You're right, that is a nice profit."

"That's nothing, I just got a place in Anacostia for 75."

"Well, you won't be selling that place for 225. It'll be 125 if you're lucky." Anacostia was not a nice neighborhood, it was possibly the worst in DC.

"Same profit margin though," he said. Jackie came back at that moment with the couple.

"Is there a reason you're so eager to sell this place?" Anthony was quick to ask.

"I'm not eager to sell it; if you don't want it, I don't mind waiting for someone who does. I just want it to go to someone interested in raising a family here."

The other man studied Morgan for several minutes, then he seemed to deflate, and glanced at his wife. Kara nodded, so Anthony put out his hand. "225 then."

Morgan shook his hand. "I hope you and your family are happy here."

It took a few minutes to set a date to sign papers and handle other formalities, and then Morgan was eager to leave the family to their new home. And, leave Jackie to deal with all the paperwork.

Emily stopped him in the front yard, still holding his hand, and searched his eyes. "What made you decide to do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You could have waited for a family who could afford your asking price, which is more than fair, but you gave it to them, why?"

He sighed and looked away. "After my dad died, we couldn't afford the mortgage on the house, even with his pension and life insurance. My mother worked like a dog, and we still had to move around a lot. Old apartments in poorly kept buildings, in bad neighborhoods. Nothing was ever new. I remember one place, the toilet seat was so worn, the white was wearing off; I used to wonder how many people had to put their butts there for it to wear off. I learned how to fix things, because when everything you have is old, it tends to break a lot. The first place I bought and fixed up was my mother's house. Sarah, Desi, and I got it real cheap, falling apart and in foreclosure, and I spent a year and a half fixing it, so we could give it to my mother for her 55th birthday. She loves that house, and it's hers, no one can ever take it away." He paused. "I guess I wanted those kids to grow up feeling proud of where they live."

Emily stood there on the front lawn, seeing nothing but warmth and honesty in his eyes. With her free hand, she reached up and touched his face, brushing her thumb along his cheek. She didn't feel scared, or tense, or any desire to run. Not even when she leaned in and pressed her lips gently to his. She felt safe.

Morgan deepened the kiss, just a little, enough so it wasn't hesitant any longer. It wasn't anything like Chris's kisses, it wasn't aggressive or possessing, and it wasn't desperate. He wasn't trying to take anything she wasn't offering. It was passionate and affectionate, and he let her do most of the leading. When they broke apart, they held each other for a few silent minutes, until Morgan spoke.

"You want to get some ice cream?"

"Ice cream?" She pulled away, looking at him, lips quirked in amused confusion.

"We're getting toward October, it's going to get too cold for ice cream soon." He said it like it was the most logical statement in the world.

Emily smiled. "Sure, let's get ice cream."

He grinned, that smile that had made her all kinds of nervous when she met him. "I'll take you by the place in Anacostia afterward, show you what I want to do."

She squeezed his hand. "Can't wait."

* * *

><p><em>And this story is officially finished. Thank you everyone who's reviewed, and everyone who stuck with it through the sometimes sporadic and often delayed updating. Thoughts on the piece as a whole are welcomed and would be greatly appreciated. <em>

_For those who follow me, next up, Prentiss/Doyle oneshot I promised someone, following that, the next Addy fic (which will be chaptered), and then a few short stories I need to get out. _


	21. Epilogue has been posted

A/N: 4/2712

The epilogue to this series has been posted. It's called 'Keep Going', you can find it in my stories. You can also find the complete chronology for this series in the story titled, 'Series'.

-Lost


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